Wild River Running
by GrayWolf84
Summary: No good deed goes unpunished, when the Duke cousins help an old moonshiner pack up for retirement. Rated T ...something will probably be upsetting at some point, plus a little violence. Feedback encouraged!
1. Wild River Running

**Author's Notes: So I just couldn't wait any longer - here's the first chapter of my next. Now, you don't even have to ask - I'll update about every other day, no matter how impatient anyone gets. That's half the fun :-) My uber-appreciation to by beta-readers: Flynne, whose Golden Idaho comments are an endless source if hilarity and broken halos; Fanficfan, who has been so patient with my scattered half-started story ideas, and Brenda, whose late-night e-mail conversations keep me entertained until well past the bedtime of good little college students. Enjoy!**

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**Wild River Running**

**Chapter One**

**Howdy, neighbors! Welcome to…well, this isn't exactly Hazzard now, is it? But, we all know that the Dukes carry a little piece of Hazzard with them everywhere they go, and since this is where the Dukes are, this is where we are. Well, one of the Dukes, at least. Now, he looks like he's in trouble – which might not surprise you - but this trouble looks a _bit_ worse than usual. The General Lee ain't gonna do much good _here_.**

He slid back down into the water, stunned by the crushing impact of the boat against his chest that slammed him into the stone. He was dimly aware of the fierce current dragging his limp body down into the churning water, but the awareness was distant and curious, like watching himself in a dream. His first attempt to breathe in this dream-state swiftly brought him back to full consciousness as he sucked in thick, choking river water instead of light, wholesome air. His heart raced with panic as he clawed at the water that spun him about and carried him along, unable to tell up from down - life from death.

His lungs reflexively attempted a second breath - more choking water, more fear. He picked a direction and kicked with all his might, anything to pull free from the vicious underwater current. Now he could see light - or were those spots in his eyes? - and he kicked again and again, only now remembering to cup his hands as paddles instead of desperate claws. The bright shimmering light came closer, almost too bright. His strength was failing, his movements weaker. The current started to pull him under again, but when he felt it, another surge of adrenaline coursed through him, and his next kick brought him bursting to the surface.

Water streamed down from his hair and into his eyes as he coughed and hacked, trying to expel the water and suck in gulps of air all at once. For a tangled moment the coordination of breathing and treading water was too much and he started to slip below the surface again. Wildly he flapped at the water with tiring arms, gasping and searching for something to grab onto, some way to rest. Hazily, at the grey edge of his vision, he saw a tree branch floating off to his right, just a few feet out of reach. Gathering the last of his strength, he made a desperate lunge for the branch. His fingers connected with wood just as the swarm of spots burst before his eyes, and he frantically, blindly, grabbed hold before he passed out.

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Consciousness was slow to seep back into his muzzy senses. The first thing he felt was pain. Pain in his chest and in his head. The pain in his chest came in two regular patterns, one a slow ache that came with each breath, the other a sharp twinge as something hard pushed against him with a lapping rhythm. Gradually he began to feel the water and the slow current around him, gently carrying him along at a lazy pace nothing like the earlier nightmarish rushing torrent. The sunlight was still bright to his tired eyes, glittering off the water's jeweled facets, but he could feel the heavy warmth on his back through his wet shirt.

Dazedly he looked around, trying to make some sense of his surroundings. The buoyant life-saving branch turned out to be an oar, a wooden oar, with a chunk of the paddle-end curiously snapped off. His arms were draped over the long handle, and his chin had sunk down against his arm, barely keeping his head above water. The oar handle turned out to be the hard object pushing against his chest with the bobbing rhythm of the river current. Distantly he connected the twinges of pain with the ragged gashes torn into the skin and muscle beneath his stained shirt and the oar, but from what or why he couldn't recall. The wounds were swollen and water-logged, no longer bleeding, but decidedly unhealthy-looking.

The river had started to take a meandering course, broad and flat, and though the current carried him along the deepest part of the water, the shore wasn't very far away. For several minutes he dully watched the sandy beach slowly roll by, before realizing he should try to make it to shore. An experimental kick with his legs moved him a few feet closer to shore, but he drifted back again when he stopped kicking. More determined this time, he kicked out again, holding the oar out in front of him, focusing on the sandy beach straight ahead. For several minutes the only sound disturbing the quiet river scene was the forceful splashes of his feet behind him.

Chest burning, he stopped, hanging in the water and gasping from the effort. Then he felt the drift backwards again, and a mulish streak of stubbornness fueled him with new strength. He kicked out once more, this time refusing to give in to the sharp and aching pain, the heaviness that permeated his moving limbs and entire body, the grey spots that swam in his vision. Before long he wasn't kicking at water any more, but soft clay and sand in the shallows of the river. Leaving the oar behind he crawled to his hands and knees, thrilled with his victory, pulling himself out of the treacherous water with fistfuls of warm sand. _Now_ he could rest. Thankful for the summer warmth on his skin and the grace of the good Lord above, he closed his eyes and let himself collapse onto the sandy shoreline.

He didn't know how long he lay there, curled on his right side, dripping and panting, but the next sensation to penetrate his foggy awareness was a soft, wet tongue licking his face. He groaned, feeling every ounce of his pain and exhaustion, and cracked heavy eyelids to see a big black nose, a furry muzzle, and white teeth. Then the licking resumed, accompanied by insistent canine whines. Annoyed, he lifted one leaden arm to swat away the unwelcome disturbance, but he succeeded only in moving his hand forward a few inches before it fell back to the ground. All he wanted was to go back to sleep. Even the human sound that next disturbed his senses was unwelcome.

"Whatcha got there, Shard?" came a distant male voice as the man made his way through the trees and underbrush. The dog's whines turned into a couple of shrill yipping barks before she resumed her investigation of the still young man on the riverbank. The swishing movement through the bushes stopped a few feet from him, and he heard the man speak again.

"Oh, no, girl! No no no!" Whether he was talking to the dog or himself, the exhausted young man couldn't tell, but his tone became almost fearful. "Shard, that's a…no no, we can't, I can't…he's hurt…I can't, no girl…"

The dog gave another yipping bark, whining as she nudged at the still form and looked up at her master.

"No no no…please, don't ask me to…don't look at me like that, Shard! You know I can't…the city, he needs a doctor, I can't…" The man trembled at the very thought of the city, all those people, all together, walking around and talking and the air so thick he couldn't breathe. He took a step backwards, and Shard barked again, more forcefully. He looked at the young man, who obviously needed medical help, whose drying wounds were starting to bleed again, and then at the tan and black Shepherd beside him. He swallowed hard.

"Alright. You stay here with him, and I'll go get the truck."

**Now, I don't know about y'all, but I'm just a mite bit worried – and aren't we missing some folks from this picture?**

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	2. More Questions Than Answers

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**Chapter 2: More Questions Than Answers**

Jesse Duke snatched up the telephone the instant it rang. Around mid-morning he'd been working out in the barn on the regular chores when a shock of pain in his big toe crumpled his leg right out from under him, and were it not for the bale of hay sitting conveniently nearby, Jesse would have fallen over entirely. For several painful minutes he sat on the hay and held his foot in two hands, cringing. When he was unable to find any injury, Jesse became nervous, guessing at the unusual cause - a worry that almost always sat in the back of his mind, especially when Daisy and the boys were away on a trip like this. Limping, he went back about the farm chores, but never strayed far from earshot of the telephone. When his big toe hurt…

It was mid-afternoon when the call finally came. With a heavy heart he listened as the voice spoke, and wrote down notes on a pad of paper.

"Just him?" Jesse asked fearfully when the speaker paused. "No one else?"

"No, Mr. Duke, I'm sorry."

Swallowing back the painful lump in his throat, Jesse asked for directions. After writing them down, he thanked the man and hung up. Still limping, he took the time to gather some things from around the house into a bag and call the Kellers up the road before picking up his red cap and heading out the door.

**Oh boy – I don't know if'n y'all remember the last time Uncle Jesse's big toe hurt that bad, but it involved a car accident, some prison time for the boys, and the probation deal that ended the Duke family moonshine business for a very long time.**

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He lay in a hospital bed, propped with pillows so he could sit up. He ached all over, and was still exhausted, but since regaining consciousness in the city hospital, he had something more important to worry about than the pain from his injuries.

Dimly he remembered the dog, waking briefly to find himself sitting next to the dog in the cab of a dingy pickup. He woke again when the pickup stopped and he heard the scared pleas of the driver to get out, to go inside and get help, to please get out so he could go home. Groggily he wondered why the driver was afraid of **him**, but he complied, nearly falling out of the truck cab on shaky legs. Somehow he made it to the emergency room doors, while the truck and its agoraphobic driver sped off away from the city. He blacked out again, collapsing a step away from the doors, and six hours later, here he was, stitched, bandaged, and medicated. That was all he remembered of the day - of anything. He might as well not have existed before the dog and the truck.

He stared intently at the objects in his hands. His wallet had been in his back pocket, the water-swollen leather stuck fast despite the tumbles he had taken, and he now held the few items that had survived the soaking intact. The driver's license left no doubt as to his identity, but his attention was focused on a folded picture carefully tucked in its own secure spot above the license. In the picture, four people looked out at him from in front of a farmhouse, all smiling. An older man with a white beard and mustache stood on the left, with one arm around a pretty young lady with long brown hair. A young man with unruly dark hair leaned back against the support beam of the front porch, hands on his belt and one knee bent with his foot on the porch planking. Another young man with blond hair sat cross-legged on the hood of an orange car, which was only partly visible in the picture.

He frowned, looking at the license again and then at the picture. _Lucas K. Duke_ the license said, but he felt no connection to the name. He was the one leaning against the porch beam in the photo. Who were the others? The emergency contact card in his wallet had listed a Jesse Duke on Mill Pond Road in Hazzard Georgia as a primary contact, and a Cooter Davenport in the same town as a secondary. When he woke, the doctor said Jesse Duke had been called, who identified himself as Lucas's uncle. He was on his way, but it was several hours' drive from Hazzard to Carver.

Sighing, he studied the picture again. Was Jesse the older man? Who were the other two? Was the blond man Cooter? Were they his brother and sister? Friends? He let his hand fall back in his lap for a moment, closing his eyes. Lord, his head hurt. Everything hurt. They gave him painkillers, but the medication only took the edge off his broken ribs and bruised body. The doctors couldn't even guess at the cause of his injuries or what might have happened to him. A broad bruise stretched in a wide band across his chest, from a few inches below his collarbone all the way to the base of his ribs, and something had torn - literally torn, by shear force - the skin and muscle across the top of his chest. He had a bad concussion, which explained the memory loss, but there was no explanation for his aching lungs and sheer exhaustion.

A soft knock at the door disturbed his thoughts. It was the white-coated doctor, Dr. Miller, who had been treating and monitoring him all afternoon.

"Mr. Duke? You should really rest. The nurse will let you know when your uncle gets here."

He nodded tiredly, and the doctor left. Leaving the wallet, license, and picture on top of the blanket covering him, he leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. Sleep claimed him quicker than he expected, with all his pain and worry, and as he drifted off, he thought vaguely of how he didn't know 'Mr. Duke' or his uncle any more than he knew the doctor or the nurse.

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It was just after the end of visiting hours when Jesse finally arrived at Carver Memorial Hospital in Carver County, some eight hours from Hazzard going the speed limit, which he hadn't. The same thoughts had cycled through his mind during the long drive, a knot of fear and worry. _What happened?_ Did they have trouble with revenuers? Thieves? The river? The boat? Why was Luke alone? How did he get hurt? How did he even get to the hospital? Where were Daisy, Bo, and Mick? Were they hurt? How badly? After parking the old pickup truck, Jesse quickly strode through the hospital's front entrance, determined to get some answers.

The nurse at the front desk directed him to the fourth floor and gave him the name of the doctor to find. Dr. Miller wanted to speak with him before bringing him in to see his nephew. Anxious and impatient, Jesse stood in the empty elevator as it rose, and was out in the hallway looking left and right for the doctor before the doors were even fully open. Miller found him first, though, recognizing him from Luke's picture.

"Mr. Duke?" he asked, walking up to the worried old man in overalls, his red cap in his hands. Jesse's instant attention confirmed his guess. "I'm Dr. Miller, I've been treating your nephew."

"Is he alright, Doctor?" Pained worry lines stood out on Jesse's face and brow. "What happened? They wouldn't tell me over the…" Jesse stopped when the doctor sighed and motioned towards an empty room where they could step out of the hallway and talk more privately.

Miller had hoped the man could give _him_ some answers, not the other way around. When they were just inside the doorway, the doctor explained. "Mr. Duke, we don't know what happened, exactly. A nurse in the emergency room saw Lucas…"

"Luke," Jesse corrected.

"_Luke_…collapse just outside the entrance. They brought him in, cleaned him up and treated him, and found your contact information in his wallet. He has several broken ribs, several deep lacerations to his chest that required stitches, and extensive bruising across his upper body. He _also_ has a rather severe concussion."

Jesse frowned. "From what?"

"We don't know, Mr. Duke. He doesn't remember."

"He don't remember what happened?"

"He doesn't remember _anything_."

Jesse stared at the doctor for several moments, trying to put this all together in his head. "Amnesia?" he finally asked. There was no forgetting the term after the time Bo had a similar injury.

Miller nodded. "It should be temporary. It would be unusual for it to last more than three or four days."

The old man sighed. "Can I see him?"

Miller nodded again. "He was sleeping the last time I looked in, but you can wait with him until he wakes up. It might help to see a more familiar face. I'll warn you, though – Luke won't be himself just now. It'll take him some time."

Jesse slowly nodded understanding somewhere between the million thoughts running through his mind. Miller stepped out into the hall and led the way, with Jesse just behind him. Almost as an afterthought, Miller paused and looked back at the Duke patriarch.

"He's got a picture in his wallet that he's been looking at quite a bit, with you and him and two others – a young lady and a young man. Are they family as well?"

"They're his cousins, Bo and Daisy. I raised all three of them."

"Are they with you here somewhere?"

Jesse shook his head. "They were with him, on a trip on the river with an old friend. Where they are now, I hoped he could tell me."

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Luke was sleeping when Jesse and the doctor entered his room, but it was a fitful, restless sleep, as he dreamed of a young woman's cries, pain, and black, swirling, rushing, choking water that he couldn't escape. Jesse went straight to his side to quiet his nightmares, but before his uncle could say or do anything, Luke woke with a start, breathing hard and fast and painfully. After a few moments the sharp pain reached him and cleared away the last of the dream, and he leaned back again, trying to control the breaths in his protesting chest. Finally he looked up at the two men in the room – the doctor at the foot of his bed, who looked concerned, and the white-bearded older man beside him, who had one hand on his shoulder and was speaking softly to him. Luke blinked up at him.

"Easy, Luke, you're alright…you're okay, relax…" Jesse was saying, watching with mixed concern and relief as his nephew did just that, easing comfortably back against the pillows.

He fell quiet as Luke looked up at him, holding on to the hope that maybe his boy would recognize and remember him. After a silent moment, Luke's lips parted, like he was about to speak, but he stopped, and Jesse's heart wrenched when he saw no recognition in those stormy blue eyes. Instead Luke looked uncertainly at the doctor, who had been there constantly since he first woke up.

"This is your Uncle Jesse, Luke," Dr. Miller confirmed. He was carefully watching his patient's reactions – Lucas K. Duke had had a very hard day, and he didn't need to be in any more distress.

Luke looked back to the man beside him, and could see the hurt in his eyes, though he tried to hide it. This _was_ the man in the picture, and he felt like he _should_ know him, but trying to remember was like looking at a chalkboard that had been erased and trying to figure out what had been written on it. He looked down, ashamed, with a lump in his throat.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. What kind of a man couldn't remember his own family? Then he felt a callused hand lift his chin, and he looked up at the man's – his uncle's – concerned but kind expression.

"Luke, you've got nothing to be sorry for," Jesse said firmly. It pained him to see the confusion and frustration on Luke's face. "You're hurt. That's not your fault, and I love ya whether you remember me or not. I'm just glad you're not hurt worse," he added, letting go of his nephew's chin and brushing a hand through his unruly hair instead.

Even the gentle fatherly gesture felt achingly familiar, but there was no memory of childhood nightmares or teenaged broken hearts attached to it. Luke looked down again, awkwardly searching for something to say. His eyes strayed to the picture that still lay on top of the blanket in his lap, and he picked it up. The picture stirred the same feeling as the man beside him – the feeling that he _should_ know, but didn't. He held it up to the kindly man.

"Can you…can you tell me about this?" he asked hesitantly.

Jesse smiled gently, taking the picture and holding it so they could both see. It was a fairly recent photo, taken at the beginning of the summer when Luke's friend Pauline had come down for a visit, with a new camera Daisy had gotten for her birthday.

"Well, this here's you and me and your two cousins, Bo and Daisy. This was about a month and a half ago, back on the farm in Hazzard in June."

"Bo and Daisy," Luke repeated, taking the picture back and staring at the images of his cousins. "Are they okay?" That I-should-know-this feeling got stronger as he looked at the smiling faces, and it _wasn't_ a pleasant feeling.

Jesse managed to swiftly hide his shock at the question before Luke looked up at him searchingly. Did he remember something, or was this just Luke's natural protectiveness for his cousins showing? Either way, he decided, 'missing and possibly injured or dead cousins' fell under the category of Too Much For Tonight. Masking his concern, Jesse smiled.

"They're just fine, Luke." It was the first time Jesse had outright lied to his nephew in…well, many, many years. "How do _you_ feel, anyhow? Doc said you're pretty sore."

On another day, Luke would have instantly spotted the diversionary tactic, but not today. Today Jesse's comment elicited a yawn from a weary and aching young man. "Yeah, my chest hurts, but my head is worse. I just wish I remembered _something_." He shook his head slowly, frustrated.

Jesse put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "You will. You just need some time, and rest, that's all."

"Ahem," Dr. Miller cleared his throat, getting both Dukes' attention. "Speaking of rest, it's getting late. I think we should let Luke get back to sleep, and I'm sure you need to look for a place to stay for the night, Mr. Duke."

"No, wait," Luke said quickly, then stopped. Both men looked at him questioningly. He hesitated – he didn't want to ask what he wanted to ask for fear of sounding like a little kid, but at the same time…he was afraid. He didn't know who he was or what had happened to him or where his heart-pounding nightmares came from, but from the moment he'd seen _this man_ he'd felt more at ease, more _connected_ to something than he had all afternoon. He didn't want him to leave, didn't want to wake up all alone again. "Can't he…can't my uncle stay?"

Jesse smiled. He'd been about to ask the same thing.

The doctor frowned. "You need to rest, Luke. That's the only way you're going to get better."

"I know, I will, I just…can he stay, please?"

Miller looked at his patient, with his earnest and pleading expression. He didn't want to agitate him and add to his stress, but he didn't want Luke to stay up all night plying his uncle with questions either. Then again, Miller had the sense that Jesse Duke wouldn't allow that anyhow. Finally, he nodded assent. "Alright – as long as you _do_ rest. I'll let the nurses know."

Jesse thanked him, shaking his hand, before he left. Then, while Luke watched, Jesse switched on the softer lamp on the perfunctory nightstand and shut off the humming overhead fluorescent lights, before returning to the bedside where a thinly padded chair waited. It was dark outside, well past the late summer sunset, and Jesse sat down with a heavy breath.

"Is there something you wanted to talk about, Luke?" he asked gently, pulling the chair to a spot where his nephew could easily look at him.

Luke shook his head, eyes half-closed. "No." He just wanted him _there_.

Jesse smiled to himself. Memory or not, Luke was still Luke – he said half of what he thought and nearly nothing of what he felt, until he was ready to say it. "Well then," Jesse said, standing again to pull the light blanket up over his nephew, "you'd better listen to that doctor and go to sleep. We can talk more in the morning."

Luke nodded tiredly, looking down at the picture in his hand one more time before settling back and closing his eyes. "Thanks…Uncle Jesse," he added as an afterthought.

**Now friends, I don't gotta tell ya that this is _bad_. There's that old saying, 'what a man don't know can't hurt him' – but I don't think that quite applies to the Dukes this time.**

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**Author's Notes: Now, I know what you're wondering. What the heck happened? Where's Bo and Daisy? Are they alright? So before you ask, let me assure you - I'm not telling, and you'll find out eventually. :-D**


	3. Dark of the Night Light of Day

**Chapter 3: In the Dark of the Night/By the Light of Day**

Luke felt like he'd hardly closed his eyes before he was plunged back into the same nightmare of water and fear and pain. In reality, it was about three hours, a little after midnight, before Jesse was stirred from a light doze by Luke's incoherent muttering and restless movements. He watched his nephew for a few moments by the soft lamplight, waiting to see if he'd settle down. When he didn't, Jesse moved to sit on the edge of the bed, brushing a quieting hand across Luke's brow and hair.

As earlier, his nephew woke with a start, wide-eyed and breathing hard, and Jesse could see the lingering fear when Luke met his eyes. Shifting closer, Jesse wrapped an arm behind his shoulders, speaking quietly and hushingly, in a tone that would soothe a wild mustang. He could feel Luke trembling as the young man leaned against him, still lost somewhere on the edges of his nightmare. Slowly his breathing eased and he relaxed, and Jesse fell quiet, seeing him pick up the picture again.

"Want to tell me about it?" the older man asked.

He felt Luke shake his head against his shoulder. Jesse sighed, wishing not for the first time that his eldest nephew wasn't so stubborn. If he were a betting man, it was easy money that Luke's bad dreams had something to do with whatever had happened to him, and therefore to Bo, Daisy, and Mick too. But Jesse couldn't help any of them if he didn't know.

They sat like that for a little while, quiet, thinking their own thoughts. Finally Jesse shifted, bending down to kiss the top of Luke's head before moving back to his own seat. He didn't see Luke's flickering sideways glance, as his nephew looked for some sign whether he'd offended him. His uncle looked sad and worried as he settled into the chair.

It wasn't that Luke didn't trust him. He did trust the kind old man, despite his barren memory – but the images, that choking terror, was just too fresh in his mind. He was tired and sore – he didn't feel like he'd hardly slept at all – and he just wanted to banish the fear from his thoughts. He leaned back and closed his eyes, and Jesse thought he'd gone back to sleep, until he spoke.

"Uncle Jesse?"

"Yeah, Luke?"

"Will you tell me about my cousins? About me?" Luke asked softly.

Jesse was silent for a moment, thinking over the request. On the one hand, it was very late, and he needed to rest. On the other hand, if he had something to think about besides the nightmares plaguing him… Jesse cleared his throat.

"Well, Luke…you're, ah…you're my nephew, and you live with me and Daisy and Bo on our farm in Hazzard, Georgia. I raised all three of you, since your mamas and papas passed on when you were little. We're family, the four of us, and though we've never had much else, we've always had each other. There's not a whole lot the three of you wouldn't do for each other, or for me, and I love you all like you were my own."

Jesse spoke softly, leaning his elbows on his thighs and staring off into space as he tried to think of what Luke might want to hear about, and what might help jog his memory.

"You're the oldest, and you're always looking after Daisy and Bo like a good older brother, even back when you were little yourself. You joined the Marines when you turned eighteen, and you fought in the war overseas, but you came back to us and we were happy you were home safe.

"We grow cotton on the farm, but we also used to brew the best moonshine a man could make, until you and Bo got caught on a run some years ago, and we agreed to stop making 'shine in exchange for your probation. Since then we've worked the farm and spent a lot of time tangling with the Hazzard law, Sheriff Rosco and Boss Hogg, putting an end to their dirty schemes to swindle the good folk of Hazzard. You and Bo have the General Lee, your racecar, and when you're not running from Rosco and jumping some crick in it, you're bringing in extra money for the farm in the weekend races.

"Bo's your cousin, but he's probably also your best friend. He's four years younger than you, but he's been following you around since he was old enough to walk. You helped him learn how to ride a bike, how to fish, how to drive. You two are…"

A slight rustling sound made Jesse pause and look up. It was Luke shifting a little in his sleep, breathing deep and soft, the picture fallen from his limp hand. Jesse swallowed hard.

"You two are practically inseparable, and I don't know what we're gonna do if we can't figure out what happened to him and Daisy," he finished, whispering to himself.

**Uh-huh – I was just thinkin' the same thing, Uncle Jesse. But don't you give up hope – them kids is born tough and raised stubborn, and they won't give up without a fight!**

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By morning, Jesse had managed to get a few snatches of sleep himself, but worry gnawed at him as he watched the minutes tick by on the clock on the wall. In the late hours of the night, Jesse had enlisted the aid of a bored hospital clerk in contacting other nearby hospitals and the local law, in hopes of finding something on Daisy, Bo, or Mick. None of their calls turned up any answers, but they did eliminate some of the long list of possibilities. One last call to the Carver County sheriff's department had the night-shift deputy promising Jesse he'd send Sheriff Richards straight to the hospital first thing in the morning. Now it was a matter of waiting, waiting, waiting.

Footsteps at the doorway drew Jesse's attention away from the clock. A grey-haired man easily twenty years Jesse's senior stepped through the doorway, wearing a crisp brown and tan uniform, a polished badge easily as old as the man himself, and a equally polished pistol in a holster on his hip. Sheriff Dale Richards was a lifelong lawman, curiously untouched by the graft and corruption that tended to sully men of such power in the southern counties, and full of well-earned pride and honor for his life's work and his day's labor. Just a few minutes' conversation with Jesse proved that, though weathered and old, the sheriff's mind was still sharp and his hands were still strong, and Jesse was comforted that a man like Richards would be in charge of the search.

Jesse joined the sheriff in one corner of the little room so they could speak without disturbing Luke. Introductions were made, and Jesse quickly explained the situation. Richards frowned as he listened, with sad brown eyes studying the sleeping young man. A most unusual case for sure. He pulled out a notepad and pen and made notes of Jesse's story, asking for details and jotting down his own thoughts.

Nearly two weeks before, Tom Greeley passed away after a year-long struggle with cancer. The old Ridge Runner was mourned throughout Hazzard as a kind and gentle man, a loyal and courageous friend, an honorable enemy, but none mourned more than the brother he left behind, Mick Greeley. Mick had done all he could to raise money to fund Tom's bills and treatments, and had been by his side throughout. By the time the wake and funeral services were over, Mick knew he was done with the moonshine business, unwilling to continue the family trade with no family left. He would retire.

For ninety-seven years, the Greeley family had kept their still sites secret from even their dearest friends, entering and leaving Hazzard in the dead of night through the swamps with no competitor or revenuer the wiser. The locations of those stills would have gone to the grave with Mick, but he wasn't as young or strong as he used to be, and he needed help gathering the supplies and belongings he and his brother had kept at the stills. So he went to his closest friend, Jesse Duke, and asked for help. But even as Bo and Luke agreed, Rosco had been caught snooping outside in hopes of telling Boss Hogg the locations that had greatly profited the Greeleys. Fearful of being overheard, Mick refused to tell even the Dukes where the sites were until they were on the way. Boss gave up on learning the Greeleys' still sites and readily gave the boys travel permits, and even let Daisy off work, knowing several of his schemes would profit without the young Dukes there to interfere.

Monday morning, five days ago, Jesse stood on the docks by the swamp, waving goodbye to his children while they paddled out into the swamp with Mick in his sturdy old boat. That was the last he heard from any of them, until a sudden ache in his toe and a phone call yesterday afternoon.

"And Luke doesn't remember anything that happened from there?" Richards asked again.

Jesse shook his head, looking over at his nephew. Luke was starting to stir restlessly again. Shifting, he muttered something that sounded like 'Get Bo…', and then fell quiet.

"No. Doctor Miller said he hit his head pretty hard - he didn't even remember his own name."

Just then Luke's motions and mutters turned agitated again, and Jesse left the sheriff to go to his nephew's side. Richards watched quietly from the corner as Luke woke from his nightmare the same as he had twice the night before, bolting upright, shivering and breathing in painful gasps in his uncle's arms. As he calmed, clarity and awareness returned to his sharp blue eyes. He gave a quiet moan, touching a hand to his bandaged chest and wincing.

"Luke?"

Blue eyes turned and rested on Jesse, looking him up and down. "Uncle Jesse?" The hesitant words still felt strange on his lips.

"How ya doin' this mornin'?"

Luke broke away from his gaze, and Jesse knew there was no change.

"It's okay, son," Jesse reassured him.

Shaking his head and yawning, Luke rubbed sleep and nightmares from his face with one hand, wishing it really were okay. He blinked as he noticed the lawman standing off in the corner. He studied the man's uniform and firmly met his gaze, before looking up at his uncle sitting beside him.

"They're not fine, are they? My cousins."

**Y'know, Luke always was the quick one.**

Jesse hesitated, then shook his head. Time for the truth. "We don't know."

"They were with me." It was half a question and half a statement.

His uncle nodded. Luke looked up at the sheriff. Richards could see the pain and frustration in the young man, and if he had any doubts about Jesse's story, they were dispelled now.

"And I don't remember what happened." After thinking for a moment, he looked up again at the sheriff, who was watching and waiting patiently. "Is there like a, a river near here?"

Jesse and Richards both looked surprised at the sudden question, but the old sheriff was the first to respond. "Well, yes, son. The Ridgewater River runs through the county, about ten miles west of here. Why?"

Luke hesitated, uncomfortable with the vulnerable feeling of discussing his private thoughts – and fears - but he had nothing else to contribute that might help find his cousins. "I've had this dream…it's just a dream, but it feels real…"

When he trailed off, Jesse gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, still sitting beside him on the bed. "Go on, Luke," he encouraged. Richards nodded encouragement as well. At this point, anything was something.

Luke frowned pensively, closing his eyes and feeling the ache in his chest, dull pain in his head, and the comforting arm wrapped around his shoulders. He took a careful deep breath and looked up.

"Well…first I hear someone shouting - a woman - but I can't hear what she says. Then I hit something, or something hits me – I don't know, it just hurts." Luke touched a hand to his bandages. "Then there's water everywhere, and…I'm drowning. I can't breathe, I just choke, and I'm getting pulled along by the current." He didn't notice himself start to shiver again. He could see the images flashing before his eyes, some of them real, some of them nightmarishly imagined. "And…that's it. I wake up before I find the surface. Just water, everywhere."

Jesse held him close, shaken to the core himself. If this dream was true – and it seemed too vivid not to be – then whatever else had happened, Luke had very nearly drowned. That meant Bo and Daisy… Jesse traded a significant look with the sheriff, but before either spoke, footsteps drew their attention to the doorway. An unfamiliar doctor stood there, holding a clipboard in one hand.

"Good morning, gentlemen. Mr. Duke?" the doctor asked, referring to Luke, who nodded. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but if you gentlemen would excuse us…"

Jesse and Sheriff Richards took the hint. Jesse gave his nephew's shoulder one last squeeze before getting to his feet. Richards stepped over and offered a handshake to Luke.

"Sheriff Dale Richards," the weathered old man finally introduced himself. "Take care of yourself, son. I'm sure we'll speak more later." At Luke's subdued response, the sheriff leaned down to peer at his downcast features with an earnest expression. "You did good, son. We have a place to start." He too patted Luke's shoulder reassuringly, then stood back. The doctor was starting to get impatient.

"I'll be just outside, Luke." Jesse watched the young man with a frown, but he seemed alright – a little stronger, a little more together after a decent night's rest.

Luke's solemn eyes followed Jesse and the sheriff out the door, and the young man sighed unhappily as the doctor walked up. He hated this disjointed feeling, hated not knowing what all the pieces were, never mind how they actually fit together to form his life and the events that had put him in this hospital bed. Most of all, he hated knowing that he once had a family – the family in the picture - but by the time he remembered them, they might not be there anymore.

**Oh, I sure hope not, Luke. I sure hope not.**

* * *


	4. Glimmer of Light

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 4: Glimmer of Light**

In the hallway, Sheriff Richards stopped and waited for Jesse to join him. Both knew they had more to discuss.

"Can I correctly assume," Richards began, "that Luke is normally a strong swimmer?"

Jesse nodded. "Since he was a little tyke. He even rescued Bo out of Bear Paw Creek once." He sighed. "The Ridgewater River…it runs through Chickasaw, but dollars to doughnuts some creek connects the Hazzard swamps with the river somewhere."

"That's where we'll start, then. I'll have men organized within the hour. Also, with your permission, Mr. Duke, I'd like to speak with the doctors about the nature of Luke's injuries."

Something in his tone raised a question in Jesse's mind. "Do you think we're talking…foul play?" he asked.

"At this point, we need to keep our options open. It is one possibility – it would explain how he ended up in that river injured. The current isn't so swift or strong that even a poor swimmer couldn't hold his own." Jesse nodded, frowning in thought. Richards produced a business card. "I need to get back to the office and get some men organized. My contact information is on here – call me day or night if anything new comes up, and keep me updated on his condition. I'll let you know as soon as I know anything. With any luck, the next time I come by I'll have your niece and nephew and your friend with me, safe and sound."

"Thank you, Sheriff. If there's anything I can do…"

"I'll let you know. Take care, Mr. Duke."

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Jesse didn't have long to wait before the doctor came out, Luke's evaluation complete. The doctor was frowning, never a good sign, as he studied the chart just outside the doorway. After a few minutes he looked up and saw Jesse waiting there attentively.

"Mr. Duke," he said with the same frown, looking back down at the chart. "From Dr. Miller's notes, Luke is doing better this morning, and he certainly says he feels better. I'm still concerned about his concussion, and I would like to keep him for another night. However…" The white-coated man pursed his lips, finding the page he was looking for and scanning it closely.

"However…?"

"However, it would appear that his bill already exceeds your funding."

Jesse sighed, understanding completely. He'd brought the month's mortgage money with him, but it had only put a dent in the sizeable bill for the emergency services alone, and he'd made arrangements with the hospital clerk to pay the remainder in installments. That meant that if Luke wasn't in life-threatening condition, legally the hospital didn't have to continue to provide care that Jesse couldn't pay for.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Duke. I'll have his release papers shortly. He should be just fine, with plenty of rest and good home cooking." The doctor regarded Jesse for a moment, and his stoic features softened a little. "I've been told of the situation your family is in. Do you have a place to stay in town, while they search?"

The doctor could see the answer in Jesse's face when he looked up. He hadn't held back but twenty or thirty dollars from the hospital bill, to cover maybe food and payphone quarters. The doctor sighed.

"Mr. Duke, if you'd like, I can have one of our nurses arrange…the local church is very generous in such cases…"

A proud man from a proud but poor family, it cut Jesse to the quick to even think of accepting charity. The Dukes had always gotten by, by sweat, blood, and 'shine, and he'd sooner tighten his belt and sleep in the pickup than take handouts from anyone. However, Luke needed a warm bed to sleep in and good food to eat, and there was no telling how long they would be in Carver County. Swallowing his deep-rooted pride, Jesse nodded.

"Thank you, Doctor."

**I tell ya, friends, that's probably one of the harder things ol' Jesse has ever had to accept - but there ain't nothin' he wouldn't do for his boys and little girl.**

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By late morning, Luke was dressed in the extra clothing Jesse had brought for him, and an orderly was helping him carefully climb up into the cab of the white pickup. Jesse carried the freshly laundered clothing Luke had been wearing when he showed up on the hospital's doorstep, though it needed a little mending where the shirt had torn. Luke had been barefoot, but a nurse found a pair of white tennis shoes for him that felt awkward on his feet. His leather belt was a little worse for the wear, damaged by the waterlogging, but it still fit, and his knife was still snapped into its holder on the side. His wallet was back in his jeans pocket, with the picture safely tucked away inside. He leaned back against the worn old seat cushions while his uncle shut the passenger-side door and climbed into the driver's seat. In another moment they were rumbling off down the road.

The drive was quiet as Luke did his best to ignore the queasy feeling in his stomach that came with every pothole and…well, pretty much every movement. He'd objected when the orderly insisted on wheeling him all the way out to the truck, but just the few steps he'd taken from the bed to the wheelchair and the wheelchair to the truck were enough to set his head spinning and his ears ringing. Jesse noticed his discomfort and asked if he was okay, but Luke insisted he was fine. He didn't _look_ fine, but Jesse let him be.

It was a warm, humid July Friday, but the open windows of the truck generated a cooling breeze as they drove along through the city. For a little while, Luke stared down at the picture in his hands, which he'd retrieved from his wallet again. He scanned the faces in the picture one more time, though they were already imprinted in his memory, two-dimensional just like the frozen image. Then he started looking at the details of the background, and his eyes were drawn towards the orange car his cousin Bo sat on. Of course, his eyes would be drawn to a one-legged cross-eyed mule if it was painted _that_ color, but still, it seemed at least as significant as the four other members of the Duke family gathered near it.

The 'General Lee' it was called, or so Uncle Jesse had told him, but not a whole lot else. Just the front end was visible, the front left wheel well and hood, but he tried thinking of what the rest looked like. Luke looked up at his uncle, who gave him a concerned glance in return. The younger Duke shrugged an indifferent response to an unasked question, and tucked the picture back into his wallet.

Leaning against the doorframe, Luke gazed up at the sky, avoiding looking at the dizzying movement of the street, cars, and people around them. The clouds high overhead rolled in thick gray bands, forming alternating hills and channels that drew the eye along as the truck traveled west beneath their cottony length. Luke didn't know how long he'd been looking out at the clouds when he jerked himself upright, realizing he'd started to doze.

The strange thing was, he wasn't in the truck anymore, and he wasn't in the city. He was looking out the front windshield down the hood of a reddish-orange muscle car as it flew along a tree-lined dirt country road. An enthusiastic whoop from the driver's seat made Luke turn and look at the driver. The blond boy from the picture grinned gleefully back at him beneath an unkempt mop of hair, then turned his attention to the road while Luke stared, open-mouthed.

"_Bo_…"

"Luke?"

He shook his head, blinking hard as the image faded from his eyes, and Luke found himself looking across at his uncle. Jesse stood just outside the truck, leaning in the open driver-side door looking at him worriedly. Since his wounded nephew had fallen asleep during the drive to the little church, Jesse had left him to rest while he went inside to find the pastor the hospital nurse had spoken with. As it turned out, the pastor was more than happy to assist the Dukes in their plight. He lived in a moderate-sized house just behind the church, and he'd already prepared a set of spare rooms for them to stay in.

Jesse came back outside to wake Luke and fetch the duffel bag of clothes and belongings he'd brought from home. His nephew stirred when he opened the driver-side door, looking around and staring at Jesse with the strangest expression on his face. Now he blinked owlishly, and he grew wide-eyed in sudden thought.

"Luke, what's wrong?"

Thoroughly alarmed, Jesse shut the door and hurried around to the passenger side. Luke was fumbling to pull out his wallet and the picture again, and he leaned on the open window to hold it out to Jesse, stabbing a finger at the orange car.

"Uncle Jesse, the General Lee…" he began almost breathlessly, excitedly.

"What about him? What's wrong?" Jesse's brow was furrowed in concern as he looked at his nephew, not the picture.

Luke grinned. "Nothin's wrong!" He pointed back to the picture. "The General, he's got…he's got numbers painted on the sides, right? Zero-one? And the stars and bars on the roof? With the doors welded shut?"

Jesse's dawning expression of surprise told him he was right. "Well, yes. You mean you…"

Luke grinned wider, but shook his head. "Not everything. But I remember the General. And Bo driving." Lord, it felt so good! Finally, something was coming together!

Jesse smiled, clapping a hand to his nephew's arm. "Well that's a start! I toldja, time and rest is all ya need. For Pete's sake, you had me worried, Luke!"

Pleased, Luke looked back at the picture in his hand, and could imagine exactly what the orange car looked like, exactly how it felt racing along those winding dirt roads with his cousin at his side. Pleased as he was, though, some part of him was thinking he'd rather remember something more important, like what the heck happened to him and his cousins.

"Luke…" There was a concerned edge to Jesse's voice again.

Luke turned just in time for Jesse to reach up with a handkerchief and catch the drip of blood that was dribbling from his nose. The younger Duke took the kerchief in his own hand, briefly looking down in surprise at the wet red stain before pressing it to his nose again. Jesse watched him for a moment, drawn back from his elation to the reality of Luke's injuries.

"Well, let's go on inside. This is where we're stayin', fer a bit."

He opened the truck door, and tried not to hover as Luke stepped out onto shaky legs. Jesse reached in for the duffel bag in the middle, which he'd started to get before, and they walked along around the back of the church to the house where the pastor waited for them.

**Well, whatta ya know? Maybe things are starting to look up a little… Of course, when you're at rock bottom, everything is up. Take care, Luke, we're all right here with ya.**

-------------------------------------------------------

The afternoon humidity and much of the cloud cover was cleared away by the westerly winds as the day drew on towards evening. The guest rooms of the pastor's home - almost a sub-apartment, really - were cool and comfortable, and both Dukes were soundly sleeping.

Jesse ushered Luke off to bed as soon as his inexplicable nosebleed ceased, though Luke had already had plenty of time to ply his uncle with questions while staunching the blood flow. Jesse told him about Tom Greeley's passing, Mick Greeley's request, and their departure by boat down the Ridgewater River five days ago - the three Duke cousins and the old moonshiner. Luke asked more questions, hungry for information, about his life, his cousins, his home. Jesse repeated everything he'd said the night before and much more besides, while they sat on couch and chair in the cozy front room of the unused half of the first floor.

After a half hour or so, when he was certain the bleeding had stopped, Jesse put an end to the questions and suggested that Luke get some rest. He didn't need much convincing - he had a full-on headache, an aching body, and a worn-out mind. Before long he was fast asleep in the bed the pastor had prepared in another room.

Jesse used the quiet early afternoon to look around a little more at the space the pastor was lending them. The house had two floors, and was divided in half by a staircase at the center, with one more staircase on each end. To the right, looking in, was a modest dining room and kitchen, leading to a sliding glass door out to the back yard. On the far right was a comfortable living room, with stairs leading to the second floor where the pastor slept and had his study. The left half of the house was largely unused, with two more bedrooms on the second floor that stored old props from church plays gone by. The first floor held a large guest bedroom on the far left, where Luke slept, with the staircase leading into the living room in the front and a small bedroom in the back, complete with a full bath on each floor. The decorations were tasteful but simple, the furniture practical but comfortable. Jesse might not like accepting charity, but he was extremely thankful that such folk as the pastor and Sheriff Richards were so willing to help.

From there, Jesse made two calls on the phone in the living room - the first to the sheriff's department, to let Richards know where they were staying, and the second to a certain mechanic's garage in Hazzard. Jesse had only briefly told the Kellers where he was going, when asking them to tend the animals while he was away, but he knew how the Hazzard rumor mill worked, and that Cooter Davenport would be worried whether he heard the whole story or just that Jesse had left town suddenly. When he explained what was going on, Cooter grew even _more_ worried, and said he'd be in Carver in two shakes of a cat's whiskers. There was no dissuading him, and soon Jesse was setting down the phone receiver, smiling a little.

Then Jesse settled himself into the big overstuffed easy chair, the thoughts in his head echoing far louder than the silent house. By the time his worries quieted themselves, he too was fast asleep, catching up on an anxious night's rest.

**Well, Jesse an' Luke may be resting, but I'm sure not! Bo an' Daisy are still out there somewhere with that old moonshiner, and I'm plumb worried about the whole lot of them!**

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	5. Everyone's A Stranger

**Author's Notes: Alright, alright, I know everyone's anxious to hear about Bo and Daisy - so I _promise_ you, you'll know something definitiveby the end of the week. Hopefully this chapter can keep you entertained in the meantime. :-D**

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**Chapter 5: Everyone's A Stranger**

**Now friends, sometimes it seems like when there's trouble afoot, the Dukes are on their own to sort their problems out. But of course they're never _really_ alone, and sometimes, a little extra help gets sent their way…**

Samantha Mahoney was a short, dowdy woman, and some might call her old. She was a long-time widow, red hair now turned silver-gray, with no children of her own, but she was the motherly sort who adopted the children of the church as her own. She was the kind, patient Sunday school teacher that any child would be lucky to have, and she cooked and kept house for the pastor, earning her living somewhere between the two tasks. So when the pastor told her about the call from the nurse at the hospital, Mrs. Mahoney was quick to ready the empty, dusty rooms for his new guests.

She missed their arrival, out shopping for groceries, but as soon as she returned she knocked softly and peeked in, only to find them both asleep. Well then, she'd just have to make sure they had a good solid meal when they woke up! Bustling as quietly as possible, the stout little woman soon had the kitchen working at full capacity, from baking muffins to mixing meatloaf and squeezing lemons for fresh lemonade in between.

So busy was she that she didn't notice the slight creak of the guest suite door opening, or hear the quiet pad of bare feet on the hardwood floor. Reaching up to the spice rack on the island countertop, she gave a squeak of surprise when she saw Luke standing hesitantly in the hallway by the stairs. He steadied himself on the wall with one hand, and ran the other through tousled dark hair.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to scare you. I was just…hoping for a glass of water." To be honest, sheer curiosity made him investigate the delicious smells that had woken him up, not to mention a long-empty stomach. He'd pulled on his jeans and half-buttoned his blue plaid shirt, careful not to disturb his uncle as he went past.

Samantha smiled and quickly washed her hands in the sink. "Oh, come in, dear, come in! Ye jist surprised me, that's aul." True to her upbringing, she spoke with a strong Irish brogue, though she'd lived in southern Georgia all her adult life.

Trundling around the kitchen islet, she took his arm and steered him into a chair at the informal little breakfast table. Luke towered over her by more than a foot, so it made for an amusing sight, like a long-legged bloodhound being led along by a tabby kitten.

"There, naow. Ye jist make yeerself at home, dear. Water, did ye say?"

"Yes please, ma'am. Thank you," he added when she set the glass in front of him. She went back to cooking while he took a cautious sip, glad that his headache had receded and his stomach felt more agreeable. She saw him eyeing the basketful of fresh muffins, and with a smile, she brought the basket over to him.

"Help yeerself, dear. They're for ye an' yeer uncle, after aul."

Luke smiled thankfully and did help himself, though he ate slowly, picking the warm muffin apart bit by bit. "Thank you, ma'am," he said between bites. "It's real kind of you to let us stay here. I know my uncle's real worried, and, uh…it just helps a lot."

"Oh, et's quite alright, dear. Tha good pastor is always happy tae help, as am Aye. Ah'm Samantha Mahoney, by the way, dear. Ah cook and clean fer tha good pastor, so he has more time fer tha church and his people." She kneaded out the bread dough she'd been mixing while she spoke.

"I'm Luke Duke," he returned, finishing the last bite and finding himself hungry enough for a second muffin. Picking another one from the basket, he shook his head. "I wish I knew just what it is that I do." This muffin he ate more quickly, finishing the glass of water with it.

"Aye, Pastor Travis told me a little of yeer story. How are ye feeling, dear?" she asked.

"Aw, I'll be alright. A little sore and a little tired, I guess. But we don't know where my cousins are, or this other fella, Uncle Jesse's friend, and…I just wish there was something more I could do to help. All I remember is little bits and pieces from the things Uncle Jesse was telling me, but…nothing useful." He balled one hand into a fist, pressing it against the tabletop in slow frustration.

The dowdy old woman looked at him with sympathy. "Ye just need to give yeerself time, Luke. Don't worry. Ye'll see, things will work out accordin' tae the good Laird's plan."

Luke obliged her with a small smile, but it wasn't much comfort. In another moment, he was stifling a yawn, which the motherly Samantha Mahoney shrewdly observed.

"Would ye like anything else tae eat or drink, Luke?" He shook his head, still yawning. "Weel then, why don't ye go on back to bed fer a bit, an' Ah'll come wake ye when dinner's ready, hmm?"

He could hardly argue with that. With a genuine smile this time, Luke pulled himself to his feet. "Thank you again, Mrs. Mahoney."

Dusting flour from her hands, she shooed him off, setting the bread to rise in the pans and wondering what else she should prepare, while Luke made his way back down the hall.

-------------------------------------------

When Jesse woke some while later, he received a similar reception from the kindly woman. Electing to leave Luke to rest, he was soon sitting in the same chair at the kitchen table, being served fresh bread and lemonade with a hot supper of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans from the pastor's own garden. Mrs. Mahoney introduced herself and assured him Luke had already been up to eat a little bit, which was more than he'd eaten of the hospital food earlier, so Jesse was content enough. She joined him at the table and they made small talk, though Jesse was clearly distracted by his thoughts.

About the time he finished eating, they could hear Luke moving around in the guest rooms, presumably getting dressed. So when the doorbell rang, he was coming out of the guest suite tucking in his shirt just in time to answer it. He'd hardly opened the door and said a polite 'Hello' when he found himself pulled into a brief, fierce bear hug.

"Luke! Good Lord, buddyro', are you alright?.!" Cooter cried, stepping back to look him up and down. He'd spent the whole six-ish hour drive worrying, wondering just how bad the situation really was from Jesse's limited description. Now he finally had gotten to the place the Dukes were staying, and Luke himself had answered the door!

"I…uh…" Unlike Mrs. Mahoney, apparently this was someone he was supposed to know.

Jesse saved him from his embarrassment, walking down the hall behind him and looking out the open door. "Cooter! Luke, it's alright, that's Cooter, let him on in."

The mechanic looked confused for a moment, looking from Luke to Jesse inside, and then understanding dawned. "Dang, Luke! I'm sorry, I for…" he stopped, realizing it was a tasteless choice of words.

"It's alright," Luke shook his head, stepping back from the doorway. "Please, come in."

Cooter tried to hide his awkward discomfort as he stepped in past his friend, giving him a look that was somewhat apologetic and somewhat saddened. Luke avoided his gaze, busying himself with closing the door, while Jesse gave the mechanic a more enthusiastic greeting down the hallway.

"How on earth did you get here so fast?.!" Jesse asked, glancing up at the clock on the wall. It was half past seven, and it was hardly one o'clock when he'd called up to Hazzard.

Cooter just chuckled and shrugged - the Dukes were the last folks who ought to question speeding. In another moment Luke joined his uncle and apparent friend in the kitchen with Mrs. Mahoney. Jesse introduced Cooter to the motherly woman, as much for Luke's benefit as hers.

"Mrs. Samantha Mahoney, this here's Cooter Davenport. He's a close friend of the family and a great friend of the boys. I called him earlier and, well, I clean forgot that he was on his way!"

Cooter smiled. "Nice to meet you ma'am. I'm sorry I ain't cleaned up," he apologized, looking down at his grease-stained shirt, "but Uncle Jesse said there's trouble, and here I am." He looked up earnestly at Luke. "Anything I can do to help." Luke gave him a small smile, at least grateful for his concern, and all three men were a bit more at ease.

"Well! Would ye like tae stay here with Luke an' Jesse, Mr. Davenport?" Mrs. Mahoney asked brightly, indicating chairs for them to all sit down. As she spoke, she set about bringing plates, glasses, and silverware out for Luke and Cooter, pouring milk and serving dinner.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose…" Cooter began, easing down into his chair. Jesse sat across from him, and Luke on Jesse's left.

"Nunsense, dear! Tha good pastor wun't mind at aul, an' et'll do ye good tae aul stick together."

Cooter tried protesting again, but she wouldn't hear anything about it, and the question was settled. Soon the hot food was set before both boys. Cooter dug in with a will, but Luke only took a few bites, just picking at the meal after that. He didn't want to offend the good woman's generous cooking, but he felt poorly again, as though he hadn't slept at all. Now they had a guest, too, and Luke wasn't sure how he should act around this stranger who was supposed to be his friend. There was a bit of a strain at the quiet table, until Cooter spoke up.

"So, Uncle Jesse, is there any, uh, news?" he asked, glancing at Luke, unsure whether he should say anything in front of him. He relaxed again when Jesse readily responded.

"No, Cooter, not since I called you." He turned to Luke. "I checked in with the Sheriff's Department this afternoon. They've got things started out on the river, but there's no sign yet of your cousins."

Luke nodded silently, sipping at the milk that was a little easier on his stomach than the meatloaf. The table was quiet again, and Luke furtively glanced over at Cooter, trying to connect him with the stray bits and pieces of images in his mind. Then he saw the logo on the stained shirt, and he looked closer.

"The Hazzard Garage?" he asked, with a quizzical expression.

"The one and only," Cooter answered, taking another bite.

"So…you're a mechanic?"

If nothing else drove the point home to Cooter, that did it. He half-choked as he swallowed, and spent another minute coughing up the bits that went down the wrong pipe. Red-faced and eyes watering from coughing, he tried to recover as gracefully as possible.

**Y'know, that's just about how I reacted too!**

"Uh, yeah, yeah, I'm a mechanic," he finally answered. Luke didn't respond, but one look at him and Cooter could see the desperation in his eyes that he tried to hide, and how badly he _wanted_ to remember. Cooter cleared his throat again and glanced down at his grease-stained shirt. "I was, uh, working on Ben Johnson's truck when Uncle Jesse called, but that wreck'll take me another week to get back in decent condition. Other than that, business has been a little slow, with you an' Bo away." He wasn't quite sure where the line was of what Luke did and didn't know, but he decided it was probably best to just be his usual self, and let the rest sort itself out.

"Why's that?" Luke asked with half a smile, thinking back to that one fleeting image of Bo and the General Lee.

Unable to help himself, Cooter laughed. "Cause y'all bring me half my business, leavin' Rosco an' Enos in the dust to crash themselves into the pond, or a billboard, or each other…I don't know why they ain't given up on catchin' you two an' the General, makin' up all those false charges against ya, but I swear half the county funds that don't go into Boss Hogg's wallet go into mine, every time I gotta fix up their patrol cars!"

Luke leaned forward almost eagerly, with Cooter's infectious joviality bringing a smile to his face. The mechanic's explanation fit perfectly with that one memory, and he wanted to hear more. Beside him, Jesse exchanged a look with Mrs. Mahoney, who smiled as she started clearing the meal away.

"What kind of false charges? An' what about the General? Did you help us with him?"

Cooter was all too happy to answer. The conversation soon turned into a collection of tales about Luke and Bo's numerous escapes and exploits with the Hazzard law and various other shady characters that stumbled upon the rural county. Luke listened attentively, and Jesse added in bits here and there, but mostly Cooter just chattered on, gesturing and mimicking with his hands to illustrate certain points.

Eventually Mrs. Mahoney said her goodnights, content that they would be fine for the night, and she went on home. The pastor came home as well, greeting Jesse and Luke warmly, since he'd met them both earlier, and shaking Cooter's hand. The three moved into the guest rooms so as not to disturb him after he went to bed.

After a while, though, Luke started to feel frustrated again, as Cooter went on about more and more things, places, and people he didn't know. At first he was pleased to hear some bit that reminded him of something he thought he might remember, but after nearly two hours had passed, it was only making him angry at his own failure. He sat slumped back on the couch, staring distantly at the floor more often than he looked up at Cooter, brow furrowed in thought. Cooter, carried away by the tales, was oblivious, and even Jesse didn't notice at first, he was so entertained by Cooter's energetic storytelling.

"…oh, it was great. An' that reminds me! This one time last summer, you an' Bo was…"

Something in Luke snapped as Cooter launched into another tale. He didn't want to hear anything more about him and Bo, or him and Daisy, or him and the General Lee, or him and ANYONE. He shoved himself to his feet with a scowl, fully intending to say something as angry as he felt. Cooter stopped mid-sentence, surprised, and he and Jesse both looked up at him questioningly. Luke looked back at them, and immediately felt guilty.

"I'm…I'm kinda tired. I'm gonna go to bed," he hastily explained. "Sorry, Cooter. Thanks," he added as an afterthought.

Before either of them responded - still surprised - he scooted on out of the room into the bedroom, and shut the door behind him. Cooter and Jesse traded expressions of wonder and worry.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Jesse, I guess I shouldn't've…"

"No, it's alright, Cooter," Jesse shook his head, speaking softly. "It's not you. Luke's just a little unsettled by all this, I think, an' we're all worried about Bo an' Daisy. Let's give him a couple minutes, an' I'll go in an' talk to him, find out what's goin' on."

In the bedroom, Luke was taking out his anger on the most convenient available target. All three pillows flew in quick succession into the wall with muffled **thud**s, spouting a few stray feathers. The blankets and topsheet soon joined them on the floor, torn off the bed and flung across the room. The mattress got a good shove before he stubbed a bare toe on the bedpost and sat down hard, stifling a snarled swear. He _really_ wanted to shout and scream something, but that would only bring someone running, and he wanted to be alone.

Alone. How much more alone could he get, without even himself for company? At the thought, his anger faded, melting into misery, despair, and more than a touch of self-pity. He sank his face into his hands, elbows on his knees, and was still sitting like that when a soft knock came at the door.

"Yeah?" he asked over his shoulder in a gravelly voice, quickly wiping his eyes.

The door opened a little. "Mind if I come in?" Jesse asked, surveying the results of Luke's brief temper tantrum as he spoke. His nephew sat on the edge of the cockeyed mattress, his back to the door, but his whole slumped posture proclaimed defeat.

Without waiting for an answer, Jesse shut the door behind him and walked over, sitting down next to Luke. He looked sadly at his red-rimmed eyes and dejected expression, head hanging still and refusing to meet his uncle's gaze. Jesse just sighed and put an arm around his shoulders, asking no questions. His eldest nephew hid it well, but it was clear to the man who'd raised him how lost he felt. Luke didn't say anything, but it was his just style to think a problem through inside and out on his own before even mentioning it to his uncle. He was a little surprised when Luke leaned into him, looking for closeness and support. Bo had always been the huggy one; Luke, proud and strong, hadn't so much scorned affection as simply rarely sought it, more often standing on his own.

"I want to go out to the river tomorrow," Luke spoke in a voice firmer than he felt inside. "I want to help with the search."

Jesse sighed again. He'd been thinking the same thing himself, though his thoughts involved Cooter staying here to keep an eye on Luke while _Jesse_ went out to the search area. "Luke, you still need to rest. I don't think you should…"

"I want to help, Uncle Jesse," Luke cut him off insistently. Then his tone became more pleading. "It might help…I might remember something…" He pulled back and looked up at his uncle. Luke didn't quite have Bo's talent at that hopeful puppy-dog expression, but this time, it was enough. Jesse relented, his heart breaking all over again.

"Alright. We'll go, after you get some sleep and eat a good breakfast. I saw you scrimping on dinner," he added reprovingly.

Satisfied with his answer, Luke settled back against his uncle's shoulder, breathing a long, easy breath. "Wasn't feeling very good," he muttered by way of explanation. His head ached again, and the light in the room was sharp on his eyes, so he closed them with a sigh, suddenly exhausted.

"Don't fall asleep on me, now," Jesse smiled, shaking his shoulder.

"M'so tired…"

"I know. Come on, stand up for a minute, an' I'll get this bed back together."

Reluctantly, Luke stood with his uncle and turned, sheepishly regarding the mess he'd made. "Sorry, I kinda lost my temper." He started to help shift the mattress back into place, but Jesse waved him off.

"I'll take care of it, Luke. You go say goodnight to Cooter - he's probably thinkin' yer mad at him for something."

Cooter looked up expectantly from the couch when the bedroom door opened, and he got to his feet when he saw it was Luke, looking a little worse for the wear.

"Cooter, listen," Luke started, before the mechanic could speak, "I'm sorry. You're here tryin' to help, an' I guess I just…blew a sparkplug, or somethin'…"

Cooter gave him a reassuring smile and offered a friendly hand, which Luke grasped warmly. "Aw, it's alright, Lucas Dukas. I know how hard this's gotta be on ya, I understand."

Jesse came out of the bedroom. "All set, Luke."

"Go on and get some sleep, buddy. I'll see ya in the mornin'."

" 'Night, Cooter. 'Night, Uncle Jesse," Luke added as he passed. It wasn't three minutes before the light was out and he was asleep.

**Boy, poor ol' Luke's had a _long_ hard day. Think tomorrow will be any better? Uh-huh, me neither.**

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	6. Everything

**Author's Notes: Howdy everyone! Gee, y'know, reviews have fallen off an awful lot on this story - makes me kinda wonder if I should bother finishing, ya know? ;-) Well, hopefully this gives y'all a good juicy bone to chew on. Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 6: Everything**

**Well, friends, ol' Luke has had a good night's sleep to rest up - let's see how he's doin' this mornin', huh?**

Morning found Luke as exhausted as he had been the night before. His injuries were slowly starting to feel better - the twinge of his cracked ribs was less severe, his stitched skin and muscle was more itchy and annoying than painful, and the broad bruise was fading to a yellowy-green color. However, though no longer consumed by that nightmare, his dreams had turned to a steady stream of confusing thoughts and images, and gave his mind no rest no matter how many hours he slept. Unsure which were memories and which were imagined from Uncle Jesse and Cooter's words, Luke tried to piece them together, but answers eluded him like minnows darting into the shadows when a light shines on the pond.

When he finally emerged from the bedroom, Jesse and Cooter were already up, so he washed up as best he could and dressed, impatient to follow up on Jesse's promise and get out to the river. Cooter greeted him from the breakfast table, and Jesse served him a plate of eggs and toast before joining them at the table. Luke smiled to see another basket of fresh, warm muffins waiting there for him, and he knew Mrs. Mahoney had been in earlier. To satisfy his uncle, he forced himself to clean his plate, but he also wrapped up a couple of muffins to take with him.

Leaving the house behind, the three men made their way to the church parking lot, where Cooter's car stood next to Jesse's white pickup. The mechanic had driven one of his loaners, the yellow one, instead of the gas-guzzling tow truck. They just took Jesse's truck for now, though, and Cooter got in the middle, thinking Luke would be more comfortable on the end. He and Jesse had talked for a while the night before, about the whole situation, their worries, and of course, Luke. The eldest Duke cousin seemed a little more at ease around him this morning, but Cooter was careful to be more aware of how all this affected his friend.

Only a few words passed between them on the drive. Luke stared out the window to keep his mind off his malcontent stomach and spiking headache, watching as they left the outskirts of the city and the forest thickened around the road. He wasn't sure he was up to this, but he wasn't about to tell his uncle that, or anyone else.

Jesse pulled into the crowded dirt parking lot at Camp Carpenter and found a spot to park the truck. He wondered if all these vehicles belonged to the searchers, and gave heartfelt mental thanks to every one. In another moment, Cooter and Luke joined him at the rear of the pickup, and they followed the dirt access road down to where the base of operations was set up, according to Richards' directions. He'd called in earlier to let the sheriff know they were coming.

As they walked along, Jesse constantly kept one eye on his nephew, watching his movements, expression, skin tone, and the sound of his breathing for any sign of pain or fatigue. However, Luke seemed to be keeping up just fine, but for the occasional easily-hidden twinge of pain when he breathed too deeply.

It was about a quarter-mile down the winding access road to the riverfront, and they heard the buzz of conversation before actually seeing the folk gathered there. Luke heard another sound just beyond the buzz, too. Every muscle in his body stiffened when the gurgle of river water met his ears, and he swallowed hard, images from his restless sleep bringing themselves forward in his mind. Cooter noticed his change of pace and raised a questioning eyebrow, but Luke shook his head and he forced himself to continue on.

Sheriff Richards saw their approach from the open-walled pavilion that seemed to serve as the central command post. Half a dozen groups of mixed men and women were scattered among the open spaces between the trees, awaiting their search assignments for the day. They watched as the sheriff strode out to meet the newcomers.

"Mr. Duke, Luke," Richards shook their hands in turn. "It's good to see you on your feet, Luke." He looked curiously at Cooter, who introduced himself and offered a hand. Then the sheriff looked back to Jesse. "I was just about to start the morning briefing, if you'd like to listen in. I'll introduce you to the troops."

Jesse nodded agreeably and turned to Luke, who was now eyeing the crowd uneasily and feeling rather self-conscious. All these people were here, taking time out of their week and lives, just because his stupid brain wasn't working right.

"Uncle Jesse, I, uh…I think I'm gonna go walk down by the water, have a look around," he said.

Not terribly surprised, Jesse agreed, but gave Cooter a raised eyebrow. Cooter took the hint.

"Hey, you want some company, Luke?"

Luke wasn't about to refuse after his scene last night, so in another moment he and Cooter were headed down to the shoreline, while Jesse joined the sheriff back in the pavilion. He trusted Cooter to keep Luke from straying too far or getting hurt.

The plan for the search was relatively basic. Two teams were assigned to the shore, one on each side to search downriver from last night's stopping point, looking for any sign of disturbance or activity along the banks and some fifty feet into the woods. One more team was divided between three boats, looking for floating debris and scouting further downriver. All kept in contact by radio, and team leaders reported in to Richards at the staging area.

The sheriff introduced Jesse to the group as a member of the Duke family. It clearly heartened the men and women assembled, to meet the surrogate father and friend of the missing persons they were working so hard to find. He said a few words, thanking them for their efforts with heartfelt words and wishing them luck. A few had to dry damp eyes as Richards detailed the day's target search areas, handing out photocopied maps and taking last-minute questions. Most of them knew their business, however, having been a part of such searches before.

When the crews had dispersed, Richards brought Jesse over to the broad topographical map that was spread out across one picnic table. He pointed out the section upriver that had been searched the day before, and the little campground where they were now. Jesse was chilled to the core when the sheriff carefully explained that, if they came across some sign of where Luke had come out of the river, they had dive teams ready to drag the bottom, just in case. It would be harder to search sections like this, where the campground meant a great deal of regular human activity on the shore, but much of the Ridgewater River ran through uninhabited forest and farmland in Carver County, where the slightest human activity would be far more conspicuous. Several medics were on hand, and a handful of other staff went about their business at the base camp, organizing food and other necessities to be boated to the search teams later in the day.

Jesse glanced down to the shoreline, where the river gently lapped at the sand as it flowed southwards, and he was alarmed to see Cooter and Luke nowhere in sight. Frowning, he excused himself from the sheriff, and ambled down the beaten dirt path to the water's edge.

"Luke! Cooter!" he called, trying not to sound too anxious.

"Up here, Uncle Jesse!" Cooter called back. "We're alright!"

Jesse looked between the trees, and saw Cooter up ahead, waving one arm to draw his attention. Luke and his blue plaid shirt were visible just beyond him, slowly making his way along a narrow game trail that followed the river upstream.

"You boys be careful, now! Don't go too far!" he instructed, but let them go. Maybe a quiet walk would do Luke good; all three Duke cousins were far more at home in the country than in the city, and from time to time every one of them sought solace in a golden sunset, a bubbling creek, or an idle fishing trip to the pond. Just then, Jesse overheard a radio message being relayed to Richards, so he headed back through the trees to join the sheriff.

-----------------------------------------------

For his part, Luke found himself ambling down along the river's edge for two reasons. First, he was determined to conquer the unreasonable fear that coursed through him at the first sound of the water. This he accomplished with relative success, forcing himself along and smothering that feeling of terror until it was no more than an uneasy whisper in a corner of his mind. Second, he wanted to think, and maybe recognize something of the shoreline, but this proved considerably more difficult.

As he walked along, Cooter trailing somewhere behind him, his legs and lungs soon reminded him that walking along the forest path was not the same as walking through the pastor's home, and he'd only yesterday been in the hospital. His ribs ached sharper and stronger, his breath came a little harder, and his vision began to swim, forcing all his concentration and focus onto his feet and the path before him. If he was careful, he could _just_ manage to compensate for the weakness, and keep going. He might have thought to stop and turn back, but the single-minded focus that kept him going said _forward_.

Cooter followed passively - there was too little room on the narrow path to walk beside Luke, and he looked like he wanted to be alone with his thoughts anyhow. The walk was pleasant and calming, though the mechanic had a hard time looking and listening to the river that had nearly claimed one of his best friends, and may very well have taken the other two. After a while, though, he started to grow uneasy, realizing he wasn't sure exactly how long they'd been out or how far they'd gone. Luke didn't show any sign of stopping, either. Finally, he had to say something.

"Hey Luke?"

Cooter's voice stopped him in his tracks, and he turned around, blinking dazedly. He didn't quite get as far as responding.

----------------------------------------------------

Jesse was starting to get concerned. Scratch that - he wasn't _starting_ to get concerned, he was already concerned, and getting more so by the minute. More than an hour had gone on by, and Cooter and Luke weren't back yet. About the third time he paced down to the water's edge to look up the wooded game path, Sheriff Richards followed him.

"Still not back?"

Jesse jumped at the sound of his voice, betraying his anxiety. "No, not yet. I think I might go…"

The sound of pounding feet cut him off, and both older men looked up the path to see Cooter charging towards them, running full-bore through the trees. He skid to a stop, red-faced and bent over gasping for breath; it had been many years since his football days at Hazzard High.

"Need…a boat…" he managed between breaths.

"A boat? Cooter, what happened? Where's Luke?.!" Jesse demanded.

"Luke…needs…a boat…" Taking one deep breath, he stood up fully, wincing and touching a hand to a cramp in his side. "He's alright…but there's an island…"

Once Cooter got his wind back and convinced Jesse that Luke was fine, he was able to explain about the island they'd seen in the middle of the river. Luke didn't look up and see it until Cooter caught his attention and he turned around, and Cooter had been too focused on the path and Luke to notice. There was no sign of anything on the long wooded island but plants and birds, but Luke was certain it was important. Frowning, Richards said it had been checked with the previous day's search, but Cooter chuckled despite himself.

"Sheriff, I'm sorry, but you don't know Luke. I couldn't even convince him to come back here with me - he just kept starin' out across the water like a dog at a treed 'coon. He'd try to swim out to it, if he was strong enough."

Richards could see the futility of arguing. He sighed. "Alright, I'll get one of my boat crew up there to look again."

Cooter shook his head. "Oh, no. He wants to go over there himself."

The sheriff looked up at Jesse, seeking his thoughts. The Duke patriarch looked back with a questioning expression. He knew the measure of Luke's stubbornness, and in this case, if Luke felt it was important, Jesse preferred to oblige him - if he was right, it was another clue, and if he was wrong, it would satisfy him to have tried.

"There's a spare motorboat over on the dock. I'll let the crew know I'm going mobile," Richards finally agreed.

--------------------------------------

Richards guided the boat along according to Cooter's directions, while both the mechanic and Jesse watched the shore carefully for the spot where he'd left Luke. They passed by the length of the long wooded island, which Luke and Cooter hadn't even noticed until Luke looked up at his call. Just beyond the northern tip of it, Jesse finally spotted Luke sitting on a boulder close to the shore. He was hunched over a bit, leaning on his elbows with his sleeves rolled up, and one hand held a blood-soaked handkerchief to his nose. He smiled when he saw the little boat approach, and he pulled the kerchief away, checking to be sure the bleeding really had stopped.

"Now boarding for all island destinations," Cooter quipped as the boat bumped against the shallows. He stood up to give Luke a hand stepping into the bobbing vessel, and it was a good thing, too - Luke's balance was shaky enough, and he would have fallen, were it not for Cooter's shoulder there to hang on to.

"Thanks, Cooter."

"You're sure about this, Luke?" Richards asked, once he was settled in.

"Yes, sir, Sheriff," Luke answered seriously. "There's something over there, I just know it."

"Alright, son. Hang on, this might get a little choppy as we go across the current."

Luke met Jesse's worried eyes as the boat set out, but the young man appeared hopeful and enthusiastic, and that reassured his uncle. Rinsing the handkerchief in the river, he dabbed at his face and hands again, cleaning up the spots of blood that had fallen on his skin. There was nothing to be done for the bright red stains on the bandages beneath his half-buttoned shirt, so he left them alone, wringing out the cloth and leaving it to dry on the side of the boat.

The trip to the island was a short one. Luke was more than a little uneasy as the small vessel was rocked by the current, but again he swallowed back his fear and instead focused on the river islet. Cooter was soon jumping out into the shallows to draw the fore of the boat up onto the sand. Luke was the first ashore after Cooter, followed by Jesse and Richards, who tied a line to a nearby rock to keep the boat from drifting.

As all four men walked up onto the shore, Richards astutely noticed how the wind quickly erased their tracks in the sand, and thought how easily the less obvious signs of the missing Dukes might have been missed in yestereve's twilight. Stepping onto the grass, they dispersed a little, looking around for some clue of the missing Duke cousins or the old moonshiner. Unsteadily, Luke walked up along the edge of the wood, resting one hand on trees that hadn't seen an axe since the Cherokee lived and fished along the river.

There was something back there…

And before anyone hardly noticed or could stop him, he took off running into the underbrush.

"LUKE!" Jesse shouted after him, in a mixture of fear and anger - fear for Luke, anger at himself. All three men tried to follow, fighting their way into the bushes, but Luke seemed to follow some path they didn't see, and he was soon far ahead of them. They all shouted his name, guided by the sound of crashing bushes up ahead, but he didn't answer.

Luke _was_ following a path they couldn't see, the path of his own feet, through gaps that his own body had already broken through the bushes. He kept running, awkward in the white shoes from the hospital rather than the boots that had originally cut the path, until he burst out of the bushes into a little clearing on the southern end of the island. His heart raced, blood pounding in his ears, as his momentum carried him another dozen more steps forward. Then his body would give no more, and he fell to his hands and knees, fighting dizziness as a swarm of sights and sounds assaulted his senses.

He gasped for breath with a ferociously aching chest, or was he choking on a lungful of river water, or laughing in the warm summer twilight? He saw with his eyes and his mind, and the images blurred together incomprehensibly. It was all Luke could do to hold himself up when a wave of nausea overtook him, and he vomited every last bite of breakfast he'd forced himself to eat. His headache screeched and crashed in his skull like a dozen freight trains all derailing at once, and he shut his eyes tightly against the violently tilting earth that seemed to be tipping him upside down despite his efforts to stay still.

Three someones shouted his name, and a woman's voice echoed beyond them, accompanied by the swish of bushes and the tumbling roar of whitewater. Cooter clapped him on the back proudly, or was it Daisy grasping desperately at his arm, or Uncle Jesse holding his shoulders tightly and keeping him from falling into darkness?

"Luke, what were you doing?.!" Jesse asked. Fear and concern put an edge of anger in his tone, mixed with bafflement and relief. "You're not well, son, you can't run off like that!"

_'Luke, come on, time to get up, cuz! We got a river to run!'_

_'**LUKE!**_'

"We were here," Luke rasped, eyes still shut tight. All at once… The sound of his own voice echoed in his ears. '_Daisy's gonna kill you…**GET BO!**_'

He retched again, dry-heaving, and Uncle Jesse was still there, speaking quietly and gently, trying to calm him.

"We gotta help Bo…" Help Bo? Bo was there in the driver's seat of the General, grinning back at him as they jumped Bear Paw Creek and left Rosco in the drink…was there on the steps of the front porch, quietly keeping him company with a beer and the sunset…was holding his hands up in surrender in the face of a gun-toting bank robber…

The images bombarding him came faster and harder, less and less coherent, a few spoken words, a scent, a feeling, a sound, a touch, a color, one after the other, violent and merciless. His heart thundered in his chest so fast it was painful, ready to burst. Luke moaned, growing less and less able to hold up his shaking body, wavering and clinging to the grass and the earth and his sanity. And just like that, he collapsed, unconscious.

Jesse pulled Luke close as he crumpled. With tears in his eyes, he cradled his eldest boy in his arms. Blood streamed from his nose again, running down his face and off Jesse's forearm, but Jesse hardly noticed, stroking his dark hair tenderly as his tears fell. Luke was limp and still, pale white but for a flush of red high on his cheeks, but his breaths eased and his heart slowed to normal beneath Jesse's hold. He shouldn't have brought him out here…shouldn't have let him come…should have put his foot down…

Cooter had already gone to get the boat - the little clearing led down to the river in one small spot of shoreline. Richards, however, began looking around the clearing, once Luke passed out. His experienced eyes found a bank of strawberry bushes half-picked, with a small pile of two-day-old discarded stems sitting near three flattened patches of grass, two of them heavy and long and the other lighter and fainter. Then there was a scattering of other plant matter, which looked like cut bits of reeds, and a couple full reed stems trampled under bare footsteps. Richards looked back at the unconscious young man. It did look like the Duke cousins had been here. But where were Bo and Daisy now?

----------------------------------------------------

Luke opened his eyes slowly. For a moment, his heart pounded, and he was completely disoriented. Sweat dampened the blankets and his hair, and it was a full minute before he thought he recognized the inside of an RV camper. It was quiet, and for a moment he stared up uncomprehendingly at the bag of IV fluids hanging above him. It was another moment before he connected the IV fluids with the long tube and the needle in the crook of his arm. It took a full minute after that to connect where he was with where he had been and what had happened, and in the minute after that, Luke was on his feet and out the door, ripping the IV catheter from his arm. Blood dripped from the crook of his elbow and down his arm, but he didn't notice. He remembered, and he had to tell Uncle Jesse.

Those were the only coherent words running through his mind as he left the RV shirtless and barefoot, stumbling along with swaying vision and sickening bile stinging his throat. Looking around, he recognized the campground, and the RV that the medics had standing by for injured or exhausted searchers and searchees alike. The sheriff's command post wasn't three hundred feet from the RV, and Jesse and Richards were standing there, conferring closely over a map. Luke didn't see the search groups nearby, returning for the evening in the dusky twilight - he was again relying on that sheer single-minded stubbornness to get him to his uncle.

Or at least, it got him to a tree about fifty feet away from his uncle, before Cooter came bursting out of the RV, shouting and hitching his belt with a bit of toilet paper stuck to his boot. Jesse and Richards whirled around, wide-eyed. Luke soon had firm hands on each of his arms and three voices talking to him all at once, so quickly that he couldn't understand them all but knew they were trying to take him back to the RV, despite his struggles to the contrary.

"NO!" he finally shouted above them all. Jesse, Richards, and Cooter all fell silent as he blinked at them. "I need…to see…the map," he told them, very slowly and clearly.

Jesse and Cooter looked dumbfounded. "Luke…"

"Uncle Jesse. The map," he insisted firmly, tugging back from their grips. The whole of him trembled with exhaustion, and he didn't know how long he could hold out. He had to tell them _now_.

Seeing his serious and willful demeanor, Jesse hesitated, then nodded to Cooter and Richards. Neither he nor Cooter let go though, keeping Luke close and steady between them as they walked back to the open-walled pavilion. Richards brought up a chair by the table, and Luke sat heavily, closing his eyes for just a moment to force back the dizziness. Then he leaned over the huge topographical map on the table, while Jesse held a hand to his shoulder, still trying to convince himself the boy was alright. The medics said he'd just overexerted himself, was dehydrated and exhausted, and put him on IV fluids in the bed of the RV where he could sleep - but Jesse still worried that there was something more.

"What's this all about, son?" Richards asked concernedly.

Ignoring the question and the ache in his skull, Luke stared at the map, tracing a finger along the broad blue line. Some spots were marked in red and scrawled with the sheriff's handwriting, notes on the search efforts.

"Is this the island where we were?" he asked, pointing to a little green blob in the middle of the river, heavily marked with red. The sheriff answered affirmatively, and Luke traced his finger not down, but upstream. He stopped at the next green blob.

"Mick is here, waiting for us," Luke said, looking up at Jesse. Then he looked back to the map, and traced the river down again, past the little island, past the red marks showing current search areas, down some fifteen miles to the southwestern corner of the county, where another thick blue line met the Ridgewater River from the west. He paused there, noting the lake reservoir and dam upstream on the Ketchahawnee River, then went on further, into the next county to another green blob, and a section of river patterned with fish-scales in blue. The section of river was surrounded by miles and miles of forest and hill country on all sides, according to the map, with hardly a dirt mining road leading out to the paved highways into Carver.

"Here - it was right here." Luke tapped the spot and looked up at the sheriff with fearful blue eyes. "You've gotta get your men down there quick. Bo's…he didn't… It might be too late. But Daisy…you gotta."

All three men were staring at him in shock. Richards wasn't quite sure whether to believe him. Jesse was. He gripped his nephew's shoulder.

"Luke…you remember?"

Exhaustion tugging at him again, he sagged a little, leaning heavily with one arm on the table. "Yeah."

"How much?" Richards asked, looking at the spots he'd pointed out. The rapids below the Ketchahawnee…that was very wild territory, even today. He had to be sure this was real, reliable, not some half-crazed wild-goose chase.

Heart pounding again, Luke closed his eyes, hanging his head. "Everything…"

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	7. Hey Luke

**Author's Notes: Boy! Now I know all I gotta do is threaten to stop writing, and the reviews pour in... :-D But seriously, I never actually mean it - and I'm not overly fond of forcing reviews - but please, do remember to feed the author! Lots of work, thought, and effortgoes into these stories (sometimes at the expense of my schoolwork, but that's my problem, not yours) and as proud as I might be of my work, I'm prouder still when I know someone else has enjoyed it so very much.**

**In any case, two actual notes - first, I forgot to give credit where credit is due - I have Elehnin to thank for inspiring that particular description of Bo as 'the huggy one' - she paints him as such a darned cute little kid, it seemed like an apt description. Second, I'm afraid you're gonna have to suck it up and be patient until the next update - unfortunately my update pace has exceeded my writing pace, so I've only got about one chapter quasi-finalized after this, and a ridiculous amount of schoolwork due tomorrow (which I of course haven't started yet). Alas, that is the downfall of being a procrastinator. So, Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 7: "Hey Luke…"**

_"Bo!" Luke called again, starting to get annoyed. Where on earth had his younger cousin run off to? Somewhere distantly through the trees Luke could hear Daisy's voice, searching the western side of the little islet. He pushed on through the thick underbrush, shrubs and bushes that hadn't seen human disturbance in decades. Something rustled up ahead. Luke finally broke through the chest-deep brush into a small clearing in the thicket, calling his cousin's name again. This time he heard a snicker, close by, and he made straight for the sound._

_Luke strode around a corner and finally sighted his quarry, looking up at him with a grin beneath straggles of blond hair. Luke's exasperated remark was stopped short when he saw the red stains on Bo's fingers, mouth, and shirt, and he knew exactly what had kept his cousin so long – his stomach._

_"I was picking some for you two," Bo explained innocently. He held out his shirt as proof, folded upwards and filled with bright red summer strawberries._

_Luke smiled and shook his head. "Daisy's gonna kill you," he said, seeing the stains on the blue t-shirt. "And I'll bet there's two in your stomach for every one in your shirt." He reached down and plucked a berry from the thicket Bo had found, while his cousin grinned wider and continued picking. "DAISY! OVER HERE!" Luke called at the top of his lungs in her direction._

_Looking around, he found they weren't far from the shore, so he walked down and cut a few dozen reeds with his knife, carrying them back up to the strawberry patch. Calling out every so often to respond and guide Daisy in to them, he worked at cutting the reeds into long flat strips. By the time Daisy pushed her way through the bushes, Luke has woven together a clumsy but functional basket, which he handed to Bo._

_"Here, use that instead of your shirt, so we can take some with us."_

_Daisy overheard as she approached. "Think there'll be any left to take?" she asked, quickly appraising the scene. Both cousins smiled up at her as she joined them in the grass._

_The little clearing was shaded from the hot summer sun by the surrounding trees, leaving it comfortably warm and relaxing. The three cousins filled the basket, their bellies, and then some, still leaving the bushes heavy with strawberries for the birds. It felt like a Sunday afternoon picnic, whiling away the hottest part of the day as they chattered and talked. All three were stretched out on the ground and looking up at the puffy white clouds scattered loosely in the sky. After a while Daisy noticed Bo had fallen quiet – a rarity for him – and she sat up to find him fast asleep where he lay. Luke followed her gaze and chuckled to himself._

_"I warned him Mick would keep him up all night with those stories," Daisy commented with a smile._

_"S'okay, s'not a half-bad idea," Luke replied drowsily, yawning and letting his eyelids drift closed. "It'll be cooler if we travel by night anyhow. It's a full moon out, an' the river's calm enough."_

_Daisy yawned herself, settling back onto the cool earth. "No complaints here."_

_The afternoon wore on with all three Duke cousins snoozing in their little island clearing. They were in no particular hurry, lazily making their way downriver to old Mick Greeley's second hidden still site on a river islet much like this one. Greeley and his brother had operated from these two sites for years, rowing their shipments upriver while the revenuers watched the roads. But Greeley's brother had passed away last week, and now the old Ridge Runner was closing up shop, gathering the last of their belongings and the odd flask of aged sippin' 'shine, with the help of Jesse Duke's niece and nephews. Mick was back at the main site upriver, packing the amply-supplied camp - and brewing one last batch, Luke suspected - while he sent the Dukes on ahead for the sparse possessions left at the second site._

_The trio got back to the boat shortly after sundown, well rested and jovial. Greeley promised clear waters ahead, and they were soon drifting downriver with the current under the silvery moonlight. What Mick didn't know, though, was that the dam on one of the river's tributaries had been opened, drastically raising the height of the river and changing the topography as Mick knew it. Bo was on tiller duty, holding the fourteen-foot wooden boat steady, when he felt the increased turbulence in the water as they passed the swollen tributary just before dawn. The boat bucked a little, jostling his cousins where they dozed in the stern._

_"Hey Luke…" Bo called worriedly, eyeing the tumultuous waters ahead in the gray morning light. Luke was already awake, though, taking up one of the long wooden oars and putting the other in Bo's easy reach._

_By full light, both young men were fighting to keep the little boat steady in the rushing water, paddling hard to avoid rocks and boulders sticking up through the water and then to stop the boat from spinning with their swift maneuvers. Daisy held tight to the middle of the boat, calling out obstacles as she saw them. Mick had told them of boulders this way, but tall ones that were easily avoided, not this tip-of-the-iceberg kind hidden by the flooded river. Avoiding one such boulder, Luke realized too late that they were swiftly shooting right past the islet that was their destination._

_"Get to shore!" he called back to Bo, remembering Mick's warning. South of the islet, the occasional boulders became treacherous rapids, as the river broadened and spilled across unyielding stone ledges._

_The flooded current was too strong, though, even for the both of them working together, bending their backs into each paddle stroke. Soon the boat was drawn into the tumbling, foaming water, and the Duke boys had a new task – preventing the wooden vessel from getting smashed to pieces on the rocks. Grunting with the effort, spray flying up into their faces and splashing over the sides, Bo and Luke fought the river with everything they had in them. It wasn't enough._

_Coursing over a spouting ledge, the tip of the keel knocked against stone. The boat stayed upright, and Daisy held tight to her crouched spot in the center, but both boys went flying. Luke landed with a heavy splash, but quickly came up sputtering and struck out in long strokes for the drifting boat. _

_"LUKE! BO!" Daisy cried out to her cousins. She watched the swirling waters fearfully, looking for Bo to surface, but neither she nor Luke saw any sign of him. Her elder cousin struggled for several minutes against the current before he reached the boat. Daisy frantically tried to pull him up without capsizing the vessel, but he shook her off, hanging onto the side and searching the waters and calling for Bo. When their youngest cousin finally bobbed to the surface on the other side, he was floating facedown, unmoving._

_"GET BO!" Luke shouted, sputtering again as a splash of water washed over him, one arm up over the edge of the boat._

_Daisy dodged to the other side, choking back a sob as she reached down for Bo. Looping one arm under his neck, chest, and shoulder, she grabbed the back of his belt with the other. With Luke balancing out the weight on the other side, she managed to haul her not-so-little cousin up and over the edge. The sudden movement sent the bobbing vessel spinning. Daisy didn't notice the boat's impact with one particular stone ledge as she searched desperately for some sign of life in the dripping blond beside her. There was a slow, fading pulse at Bo's neck, but he wasn't breathing, and his lips and skin were turning blue, while water dribbled from his mouth. _

_Daisy leaned down and breathed one strong breath into his flooded lungs, waited five seconds, and breathed another, then another. The fifth breath brought Bo back to the land of the living, coughing and choking on river water while Daisy helped him turn to retch water off to one side. It wasn't until he lay back, exhausted and semi-conscious but alive and breathing, that Daisy looked up and saw that Luke was no longer there. The little boat was now held still by two jutting rocks just below the worst of the rapids, but there was no sign of her older cousin anywhere in the water. Then she saw him, far up ahead, nothing but a still square of blue plaid just above the surface, floating away._

* * *


	8. Get Bo aka From Bad to Worse

**Author's Notes: Haaaalllooooo out there! Long time no see! Well, dial-up it is, and I finally got myself a decent modem, so here I am with another update - and another story simmering in the background. My apologies for the long wait. And, in deference to my new job, I must sayhow very very foolish it was for the Dukes to go boating without lifejackets of U.S.C.G. approved type and adequate sizein a readily accessible location for each person on board. But then again, that wouldn't make much of a story, would it:-D Enjoy!****

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**

**Chapter 8: "Get Bo!" -(From Bad to Worse)**

Bo let out a surprised yelp as he was thrown into the air, gasping as he plunged deep into the water below the ledge. In another moment, he was wildly fighting the undertow that forcefully sucked him down, trying not to panic as he realized he wasn't being carried along downstream, but straight down deep beneath the rapids. Suddenly, the direction of the current shifted, and he was tumbling head over heels inside a turbulent kettlehole, carried along with the same powerful force that steadily eroded the stone below the ledge deeper and broader every year.

_Stay calm_, he mentally ordered himself, but he couldn't see the boat or the sunlight of the surface anymore, and his chest burned with the effort of refusing to breathe. Then the water shoved him against the stone, thumping his back and shoulder, and in his shock and surprise he swallowed a gulp of river. Tumbling back into the current, his arm twisted awkwardly, and Bo realized he still held his wooden oar in a fierce death grip. That gave him an idea.

Grasping the handle tightly with both hands, he thrust the oar hard down at what he hoped was stone, trying to push himself free of the torrent. He only succeeded in wedging the oar into a crevice. Bo clung desperately to the handle as he was tossed about, and with a shuddering **crack**, the jammed end of the aged wooden oar snapped with his weight and the force of the current. Tumbling end over end once more, Bo struggled against his air-deprived lungs, taking in another gulp of water and feeling the thick liquid starting to flood his nostrils.

Heart thumping wildly in his chest, he looked despairingly through the dark, swirling water - and he wondered if this was it. The glorious end of Bo Duke. Drowned in a river like a possum in a sack. _NO_, he thought stubbornly, it wasn't - and if it was, he wasn't giving up without a fight.

His muscles ached and buzzed for oxygen as he tightly gripped the oar between both hands, and once more he thrust outwards, knowing every second he remained trapped in the ferocious circular 'drowning machine' current was a second closer to death. The jagged end of the oar met nothing but water, draining both his strength and his hope.

His lungs were on fire, his throat fiercely and forcefully closed against the river water, but it couldn't last. A cramp stitched his ribs, and Bo gasped in pain, choking on the water that poured into his mouth. His mental prayer was little more than wordless desperate cry for help - help that could only come from one source. A mere moment later, his bare feet dragged against jagged rock, and Bo reacted instantly. Weaker now, he held the oar as tight as he could and slammed it down with all the force he could muster on the stone where his feet had been a second before.

Weak as he was, it was enough. The force of his desperate thrust carried him free of the turbulent circular current below the ledge, up and out of the kettlehole and back into the regular flow of the rapids. The buoyant oar helped pull him upwards, and he saw the light of the surface sparkling brightly overhead, just before everything went black.

* * *

Daisy felt herself starting to shake, felt the sob building in her chest and hitching her breath, as she could only watch her oldest cousin's still form float away. _Oh God, Luke!_ And then he was gone, carried off around a river bend beyond the trees. A moan cut her tears short, and she turned her attention back to Bo, where he lay in the bottom of the boat beside her. His soaked blue t-shirt clung to his chest, heaving as he gasped for air, eyes closed, the color slowly returning to his cheeks. 

Then Daisy saw another color sharply contrasting the blue cotton shirt - bright red.

It took half a moment to find the source of the blood now pooling and mixing with river water in the bottom of the boat - Bo's leg. The jeans of his left calf were shredded, as was the skin and muscle beneath. Daisy gasped at the volume of the blood pouring from the ragged flesh, correctly guessing that he had slashed it on some stone in his underwater tumble. Pulling aside the scraps of torn denim, she realized the gashes were deep enough to reach major blood vessels.

Worry and fear became secondary to action as Daisy swiftly dug into the crate holding their supplies and pulled out the first cloth she grabbed - Luke's spare shirt. Bo moaned again, eyelids flickering, as she pressed the wadded shirt tightly against the wound with one hand. With the other, she found the pressure point behind his knee and pressed hard, praying it would be enough to slow and stop the blood loss. For several miserable minutes, she helplessly watched her cousin's lifeblood soak into the blue plaid shirt, thinking the terrible thought that she would lose both her cousins this day.

But after a few minutes had passed, the improvised dressing wasn't getting any more blood-soaked, and soon she heard the best sound in all her young years.

"Daisy…" Bo groaned again, and she felt the muscles tense in his leg beneath her hands. He was looking down at her, trying to prop himself up on one elbow. "What happened?" he asked, meaning the blood.

"You tore up your leg, hon. Stay still, I'm trying to stop the bleeding."

With another groan, Bo lay back, weary beyond belief. He must have drifted off again, but it couldn't have been for long, because when he opened his eyes, Daisy was trying to tie the makeshift bandage in place one-handed, while she kept direct pressure on with the other. She looked up and saw his cornflower blue eyes open, and gave him a little smile.

"Guess you're not rid of me yet, huh?" he commented. If he saw the fleeting look of sadness in her eyes, it didn't register to him. She finished the last knot - a bit tight, if anyone asked _him_ - and moved up to lean over him and place a kiss on his brow.

"Not yet, sweetheart," she agreed.

Then Daisy looked down worriedly. The reddish-brown water in the boat seemed much deeper than it had been a little bit ago. In fact, it _was_ deeper, she was sure of it, and too deep to be just a result of the constant splashing and spray of the rapids.

A quick survey of the wooden vessel found the cause: the hull was cracked near where the keel hit the stone ledge, and water was slowly leaking in through the splintered chink in the wood. Without action, the boat would eventually sink.

Still kneeling next to Bo, Daisy took a good look around, sizing up their situation. The rocks holding the boat in place were part of a jumble of larger boulders on the western side of the whitewater rapids. The water was still deep here, with the current trapping the wooden vessel against the tooth-like jaws of stone, but the tumble of rocks appeared to lead over into the shallows and to shore. If she was careful, Daisy thought she could cross the slippery, foam-sprayed stone without much trouble. Bo, on the other hand…

Meanwhile, though exhausted by his underwater ordeal, Bo propped himself up on one elbow again and took a good look around himself – and he didn't like what he didn't see.

"Daisy…where's Luke?" he asked uneasily, twisting around to check behind him and then looking up at her.

She couldn't bear to meet those blue eyes, intently focusing her gaze on the boulders and the streamlets flowing between them, as he grew more frightened by her silence.

"Daisy…"

"I don't know, Bo," she finally said, half-honestly. "He was hanging onto the side of the boat when I pulled you out of the water, and the next time I looked up, he was…gone." Her eyes started to well, looking downriver to the distant spot where she'd last seen him.

Bo swallowed hard, understanding what she implied. But he wasn't going to give up that easily. Taking a deep, ragged breath, he stuck his chin out a little, and reached one hand up to her cheek.

"Luke's tough, Daisy," he said firmly. "There's still a chance. Knowing him, he'll be walking back up here looking for us as we speak, and he'll tell us off for worrying."

She couldn't help but smile at her cousin's determined optimism. Then she looked back at the ever-deepening water slowly leaking into the boat.

"Well, we can't stay right here to wait for him. The boat's got a leak. We need to get to shore."

Bo quickly looked around, and could see that she was right. And now that he noticed, the water seemed to be coming in faster every second. Behind him he could see the trail of boulders, and concluded as Daisy had that would be the best route to take.

"No time like the present," he said, pushing himself upright and gathering his good leg under him to rise. The results of the quick movement took him by surprise, as his vision violently tilted and he had to close his eyes to shut out the sickening swirl of color. When he opened them, he was looking up at Daisy from the flat of his back, and the sun seemed to have jumped a little higher in the morning sky.

"You okay?" she asked worriedly, bending over him.

"Uhhnn…'long as I don't do that again," Bo said, realizing he'd passed out. He rubbed one hand at his eyes, trying to clear the spots.

Daisy, in the meantime, was looking back at the rocks, wondering how in earth she was gonna get her cousin across them to the other side. "Maybe if I can…"

"No, no, I'm alright. I think if I go a little slower…"

Bo started to push himself up again, and Daisy helped him, supporting his shoulders. He stopped when he was sitting upright, waiting for the spots to clear. Now he had a good look at the bloody makeshift bandage on his leg, and the red-tinted water covering the bottom of the boat and soaked into his clothes. When he felt steady again, he put one hand on Daisy's shoulder and the other on the crate in the middle, slowly pushing himself up. The boat wiggled under the motion, and he swayed with it, but managed to stand one-legged. His calf ached ferociously with the extra blood that gravity brought to his feet and legs, but the bandage held. Bo looked down at Daisy, his arm around her shoulders, and gave her a smile.

"See there? 'I think I can, I think I can…'," he joked.

Daisy had to smile too – somehow, Bo _always_ managed to find the lighter side of the darkest situation. "Alright, then, let's think your butt out of this boat and onto the shore."

The unsteady movement of the boat made the first few steps difficult. Bo could hardly touch his left foot to the wooden hull to keep his balance, and he couldn't put weight on it at all, which meant taking short, hopping steps and leaning heavily on Daisy.

However, their first real hitch came in getting him up onto the first boulder, which rose a good three feet above the waterline and the hull of the boat. After a few different and painful tries, Daisy finally climbed up first and unceremoniously hauled her cousin up backwards, while he used his good leg to push. They both sat there panting for several minutes before Bo was ready to tackle the next one.

Slowly, the two Duke cousins made their way across the convoluted tumble of stone. Though some stones were as easily crossed as a smooth, flat sidewalk, many presented their own challenges – huge, tiny, tall, sloped, submerged, slippery, shifty, jagged. Ankle-deep in water halfway across one broad submerged ledge, Bo's foot slipped on the slimy algae with his short hop forward. He pitched forward, dragging Daisy down with him, but with better footing, she was able to just barely kept herself and two hundred pounds of Bo from plunging into the water. They paused there for a few minutes to rest, fully halfway to shore.

Daisy could feel Bo leaning on her more heavily as they kept moving, and she stopped more often so he could rest, but there was nothing she could do for him in the middle of the crossing but encourage him along. He was getting more and more tired, staring at the shore and wishing the grassy bank was that many feet closer. He thought he could feel hot blood trickling down his bare ankle, but he said nothing of it yet.

Finally, Daisy set foot on soft soil, and with a few more hops, Bo was there with her. He would have been happy to sink down right there, but when he tried, she held him up.

"Not yet, hon. Let's get to that willow there, it's just a little farther."

Wearily, he looked up at the huge weeping willow tree set back from the edge of the river, with dozens long dangling limbs sheltering the open space inside. It was maybe twenty normal paces – forty or so Bo-hops – away. The shade looked inviting, as the summer morning was already building towards a boiling hot day, and he nodded pale agreement.

The tree was his limit. Daisy carefully half-carried, half-guided him all the way there, but once inside the shaded shelter of the trailing limbs, he could give no more. Bo's good knee buckled, and all Daisy could do was let him slide to the ground, panting with his effort. His eyes were closed again as she checked his leg, applying pressure again to slow the fresh bleeding.

Daisy was torn in a half-dozen directions all at once. Bo needed a doctor - that much was obvious. But did she dare leave him alone to go for help? Should she wait until he was strong enough to go with her? What about Luke? Was there even a chance he was still alive, after what she'd seen? Could she leave Bo to look for him? What if he was washed up on shore somewhere, needing care just as much as Bo, or more? He could die if she didn't reach him in time - and Bo could die if she left him.

"Daisy…"

She looked up. Bo was looking back at her with weary eyes.

"Go look for Luke," he croaked, more begging than commanding. Clearly he had been thinking the same thing.

"Bo, I…" she started to refuse sadly. Bo was right here, right now, and she couldn't take the chance of losing him when she didn't know if there was a chance for Luke at all. But Bo was a master of pleading puppy-dog eyes, and all his worry and sorrow and fear now fed into a blue-eyed expression that was unbearable to refuse.

"Please, Daisy…"

Daisy bowed her head, looking away, still torn with indecision. The bleeding in his leg appeared to have stopped again, though, and for all his wet clothing, the day was growing hot. She looked back at her little cousin and his pleading expression.

"I'll try, Bo."

* * *

Bo woke to the distant roaring rush of the river. The afternoon was quiet and still, just as idyllic a summer day as the afternoon before, when the three Duke cousins napped peacefully on an island many miles upriver. There was nothing peaceful about it now. The first thing Bo felt when he opened his eyes was a pang of fear deep in his gut, fear for Luke.

"Daisy?" he called, blinking as he looked around. Cautiously, he sat up from where he lay in the soft green grass beneath the willow tree. The light breeze playfully waving the willow branches was the only response he got.

"Daisy?" he called again, a little louder. Bo could see the trail of footsteps through the grass where she had half-carried him in, some of the bent blades stained red, and another trail of her footsteps leaving, but that was it. How long had she been gone? She'd promised to go look for Luke, but that must have been hours ago.

A throb of pain in his leg drew his attention, and Bo groaned slightly, feeling every inch of his soreness. His aching lungs and muscles felt like he'd just run a marathon. Bending forward, he took a closer look at his injured calf. The blood that had soaked the makeshift bandage - Luke's shirt, Bo saw with a twinge in his heart - was now crusted and dried. He had no idea how bad it really was, but the volume of blood gave him an idea. In any case, it would hold for now. Where was Daisy?

Slowly, carefully, Bo pushed himself to his feet, and tested his left leg against the soft earth. It wasn't much better than earlier, but he could stand to put a little weight on it now. Taking small, limping steps, Bo moved out from beneath the tree and into the hot afternoon sunlight, squinting as he looked around.

There was still no sign of Daisy, or anyone else, for that matter. The position of the sun confirmed it was late afternoon, many hours since they'd left the wrecked boat behind that morning. Bo frowned and made his way to a boulder at the water's edge to sit down and wait.

While he waited, he decided to take a closer look at his wounded calf. Propping his leg up across the rock, he carefully undid the bandage, hissing where the cloth stuck. He set the blood-soaked shirt aside and took a look. His stomach did a flip-flop, looking at the ragged flesh that now trickled blood in spots. He had been so full of adrenaline underwater, he hadn't even noticed it happen.

Keeping his leg very still, Bo took the opportunity to wash the blue plaid shirt in the river water for a clean - at least, clean_er_ - bandage. It dried quickly in the hot sun, spread out across the rock, and Bo retied it around his leg. Then he looked around again, frowning deeper as he still saw no sign of Daisy. He'd been out here for nearly an hour, and she must have been gone for several hours before that - she should be back by now. The twinge of worry in his gut for Luke now spread to include Daisy. It was time to start looking.

Still barefoot, Bo stood, and took stock of his situation. There was no way for him to reach the flooded boat for any supplies - not alone, at least - but he still had his knife strapped to his waterlogged belt. His wallet was in his back pocket - not that it would do any good - and that good old Bo Duke charm was still intact. Luke was missing - he refused to add, _presumed dead_ - and Daisy seemed to be missing as well, so his good Duke luck appeared to be holding out. Well, what was he waiting for?

With that, Bo hobbled off, heading downstream and following Daisy's tracks along the shoreline.

* * *

The evening shadows were deepening as Bo read the tale told by the tracks in the earth. He'd followed Daisy's trail this far, watching for signs of Luke at the same time. His heart grew heavier with each step that passed without finding either one of them. Then the trail abruptly changed. _Daisy!_

For a dozen steps, Daisy had been running, when she stopped suddenly with a tumble of scattered sand, and two sets of heavy, booted footsteps intercepted her. Three sets of tracks led away from the river and into the woods. Limping, Bo followed. He paused at the edge of the woodline, a painful lump in his throat. No, Luke would understand. Luke would be alright. Knowing him, Luke would come to _his_ rescue. But right now, Daisy was in worse trouble.

For several hundred feet, the staggered pace of the tracks told Bo that Daisy was fighting every step of the way. _Give 'em hell, Daisy!_ Bo mentally cheered. Whoever had hold of her would soon learn the folly of messing with a Duke, male or female. Then three sets of tracks became two, one of them heavier than before. They were carrying her. The knot of fear in Bo began to change to anger. How dare they! How dare they touch his cousin! He'd break every bone in their bodies with his bare hands if they hurt her, and Luke would be sorry to have missed out! Scum-sucking, bottom-feeding, underhanded, miserable wretches!

Seeing red, Bo resolutely carried on, imagining the worst possibilities for Daisy's situation, and what he'd do to her attackers when he caught up with them. It wasn't long before it occurred to him she never would have left his side if he hadn't begged her, and guilt redoubled his anger, fueling him with plenty of energy for the trek ahead.

**Y'know, I admire that boy's tenacity, even if he is headed straight into trouble!**

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	9. Lost and Alone

**Author's Notes: Ahoy there! Well, I know it's been a while ducks flying tomatoes but here's an update - short, as chapters go, and probably not quite as much action as I'm sure y'all'd like to see - but hopefully it'll tide you over until I finish with Chapter 10. Postponed, but not forgotten. And to give credit where credit is due, my absolute thanks to my wonderful beta readers (even though one of them is quite stressed even though she'll do perfectly fine on what's stressing her our, and the other one will kick Chem tail by the end of the semester) - and I have to credit Trace Adkins' song "Ride" for the inspiration on how to kick this off again. If there ever was a Bo song, that's it. Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 9: Lost and Alone**

Bo was looking out at Hazzard exactly the way he liked it – flying at him fast through the bugs on the General's windshield. He grinned as a bump jarred the orange Charger and pressed the gas pedal another fraction of an inch to the floor, leaving Joe Dunn behind in his dust.

"Curve up ahead, Bo," Luke reported from the passenger seat. "This one's sharp, watch it."

Bo just grinned broader as he turned the General into the bend, skidding sideways slightly and throwing up another cloud of dust. Luke looked back, and saw the other six cars coming around the curve behind them – one upside down, a second now spun around facing the wrong direction, while the other four carefully avoided the wrecks and carried on to chase the lead car.

The elder cousin narrated to the younger, and Bo whooped in delight. He was about to say something, when his grin fell as the RPM's started to drop, and he felt something odd going on with the General.

"Oh no," Luke echoed Bo's thoughts aloud, leaning over to read the gauges.

"What do you think, Luke?" Bo asked. Slowly the temperature reading ticked higher, and his heart sank into his gut. Finish the race, and risk the General, or drop out, and lose both the winnings and their entry fee?

Luke looked back at the four remaining cars behind them, gauging the distance and speed of each, then looked forward towards the finish line two miles ahead, somewhere beyond the trees. "Uhhmm…"

The General answered for him in a sudden spray of steam and smoke as the radiator blew. Both Dukes boys were slammed against their harnesses with the sudden deceleration of the race car, skidding to a stop on the side of the road. Smoke and steam billowed, and Bo coughed, the race forgotten as he fumbled with the harness straps.

"Luke?.!" Bo called, his voice squeaking with fear. He couldn't see a thing. He reached out towards the passenger seat, groping through the thick fog that was becoming thicker by the moment. Instead of finding Luke, his hand met a trickle of cold water, and before he could fathom where the water was coming from, it became a roaring torrent coursing down over him, and he was falling off the General's secure, solid front seat into a nightmare of cold, choking, rushing water.

"LUKE!" he shouted above the roar, but he could see nothing through the thick fog.

"BO! HELP!" Luke cried out in the distance.

Frantically, Bo spun around, pushing through the water that swirled around him, but he couldn't get a fix on the direction of the voice. "LUKE!"

"BO! HELP ME!" his cousin cried out again, farther away, struggling.

"LUKE!" Bo's voice was cracked with tears, now, as he struggled to find his bearings. After the longest time, he found the shoreline, desperately clawing his way up onto the rocks. He turned around to look back at the water, and now the fog cleared, and he found Luke, except Luke wasn't moving. The eldest Duke cousin lay facedown in the shallows on the far shore, still as death, drowned in the heavy current.

"Oh God, no! LUKE!" Bo cried, falling to his knees. "No…no…" he sobbed into his hands. "I tried…Luke, I tried…"

* * *

Bo woke with a jump, and found himself shivering in the aftermath of his nightmare. He huddled against the roots of the great oak tree, but it was hardly comfort for the image burned into his mind – Luke, dead in the water of the Ridgewater River. Bo's breath choked in his throat in half a sob, and he allowed a few tears to trickle down, giving in to his misery for just a moment. Then, sniffing and wiping his eyes, he took a deep breath and buckled his emotions back under control, then looked around. He wasn't going to help _anyone_ if he just sat here wallowing in self-pity. 

A quick look around proved that he hadn't been asleep very long – no more than a couple hours. It was still pitch black beneath the trees, though as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see trickles of moonlight streaming down through the treetops. Using the tree for support, Bo picked himself up off the ground, restraining a cry of pain as he discovered his injured leg had stiffened and cramped while he rested. He spent a few minutes limping around in circles, working out the worst of the pain. When it was manageable again, it only took Bo a minute to find the trail, and he continued on his way.

After leaving the river behind earlier, he'd followed the trail of heavy boots well into the night, straining in the darkness to see the footprints and disturbances in the soil and leaf cover. There were two sets of tracks, hiking boots by the look of it, and one set made a much deeper impression than the other – the man carrying Daisy. They did little to cover their trail, so either they weren't very good woodsmen, or they weren't afraid of pursuit. Either way, it worked to Bo's advantage. He tracked for hours, until dizziness and exhaustion forced him to sit for a few minutes, and before he knew it sitting turned into sleeping.

Now he picked up the trail again, searching the ground ahead of him for the heavy bootprints. It soon became more difficult – the trees began to grow in thicker, shutting out the white moonlight, and the ground was covered in several years' worth of fallen leaves, which took boot prints none too well. For the fifth time since his short rest, Bo stopped to search the ground closer, peering down as close as he could without aggravating his injured leg.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Bo turned and looked behind him at his own barely discernable trail. He could only just make out the trail, and his prints were fresh and familiar – how well could he follow a faint hours-old trail in the dead of night?

_No._ He refused to even entertain the idea. He wasn't lost. Luke wasn't dead. And he was going to find Daisy.

Bending down, Bo readjusted the cloth wrapped around his calf, tying it a little tighter, then straightened himself and resolutely stumped on, following what he hoped were the tracks of his cousin's captors.

* * *

The forest was silent and still. All Bo could hear was the sound of his own breathing, and it was an unnerving feeling, as though all the creatures of the night were waiting and watching to see what he would do. 

He was lost.

There, he admitted it.

After another hour of blindly stumbling through the trees, he was dead certain that he was no longer following Daisy's trail, nor any trail at all, save the one his imagination created before his feet. Making matters worse, his bandaged wound was bleeding again, and he was growing dizzy and lightheaded with every slow, hobbling step as more blood seeped away. He was tired and sore and not thinking very clearly, and he had lost all sense of time and direction in his wanderings. Plus, as his stomach was sharply reminding him, he hadn't eaten anything since the day before – before the rapids, before the dunking in the river, and before effectively losing both his cousins in a matter of hours.

In short, Bo was about as miserable as he could be, and now he stood there in the warm, dark, silent forest, running a muddled debate in his head over what to do.

In the end, his stomach won out first – not because of any real logic-based decision, but because a short breath of wind carried the scent of ripe raspberries to his nose, from a massive clumps of thorny raspberry bushes about ten feet away. He limped over and carefully lowered himself to the ground, resting and eating every berry in his reach while he thought about his dilemma. He didn't get very far. Instead, Bo found himself thinking about Luke, and a night not unlike this one, a very long time ago.

* * *

_It was his first time camping alone with his older cousin, and it was scary, even though the farmhouse was only a half-mile away and he'd been camping with the whole family plenty of times before. Somehow the night seemed darker, the tree branches seemed creakier, the shadows seemed shadowier, as seven year-old Bo stared out from his sleeping bag with round blue eyes. The tent seemed so empty with just the two of them – he missed Uncle Jesse's comforting bulk between him and the tent wall that flapped with the breeze, and Daisy on his other side, the two younger children pressed between uncle and eldest cousin._

_Then an owl glided past, briefly casting a winged shadow on the tent wall as it swooped down to the field in search of dinner. Little Bo let out a gasp of fright, ready to bolt for his nice, warm, safe bed in the house._

_Half-asleep in his own sleeping bag, Luke blinked and yawned. "What is it, Bo?" he asked softly through the darkness._

_"I don't like this, Luke," Bo whimpered, freezing up again as the wind brushed a tree branch against the tent wall._

_"Scared?" the eleven year-old asked gently. To be honest, this was no piece of cake for him either – he'd only been camping alone with Cooter Davenport a few times, and he'd never been out alone and responsible for his little cousin before._

_In the dark, Luke couldn't see the blond boy's affirmative nod, but he felt it when Bo wriggled his sleeping bag closer to him, huddling at his side._

_"Bo, you've been camping before – you know it's just the trees out there, and the wind, and the animals we see all the time on the farm," he reasoned, saying aloud the same things he'd been telling himself a half-hour before._

_But there was no reasoning with a seven year-old's mind. "But it's dark, Luke, and I don't like it."_

_"Do you want to go inside?" Luke offered. In the light of day, Bo had been eager to camp out deep in the woods near their favorite fishing hole, a long walk from the house, but Uncle Jesse wanted them close for just this reason._

_Bo shook his head vigorously. No matter how scared he was, he wasn't giving in – he was a Duke, after all, and Dukes weren't chickens._

_"Then try to go to sleep. It's okay, Bo – it'll be nice and bright and sunny out in the morning, and it won't be scary then. You'll see, there's nothing to be afraid of."_

_When Bo spoke, his cousin could hear the unhappy frown in his voice. "Okay, Luke."_

_He wriggled around in his sleeping bag some more, trying to get settled comfortably with Luke on one side and his teddy on the other, and then the tent was quiet for a few minutes. Luke was growing drowsy again when Bo's voice startled him awake a second time._

_"Luke, how long is it 'til morning?"_

_The older boy couldn't help but laugh. "I don't know, Bo – maybe nine hours? It'll go by a lost faster if you go to sleep."_

_Bo pondered this for a moment, and then replied, "But it's still scary."_

_"I know, buddy. Everything looks scary at night when it's dark. It'll be better in the morning, I promise."_

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Finding that he'd run out of raspberries within arm's reach, Bo slowly worked his way around to the other side, where the raspberry bushes hedged right up to a tall pine tree. Leaning back against the tree trunk, he continued filling his stomach, and thinking. 

Of course, Luke had been right, that night in the tent so long ago. Somehow he'd fallen asleep, clutching his teddy bear tight, and in the morning he was amazed to see they were camped underneath one of his favorite climbing trees, and the branch scraping the tent was the best one for hanging upside down by his legs. Even better, the owl had left a big feather on the ground beside the tent, which Bo delightedly collected and kept, and to this day it graced the top of his bureau. It was a great end to a difficult night, and there was, as Luke said, nothing to be afraid of.

Now, after running out of raspberries again, Bo slumped back against the tree and let his eyes drift shut, unable to come up with a better plan. A few stray tears escaped unnoticed down dirty cheeks. He didn't dare to hope that Luke's sage words might come true again, and things would actually be better in the morning.

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**P.S. This chapter is hereby dedicated to the raspberry bushes in the backyard of the house where I grew up - Rest In Peace - I know I'll never taste a raspberry as sweet and dangerous to access again (stupid new owners!).**


	10. Wounded Deer

**Author's Notes: Hey everyone - sorry again for the lateness. The usual excuses, you know. I finally got an answer on my job prospects, and though it's not quite the answer I hoped for, it does a heck of a lot more for my pride than my wallet. And, my apologies to my beta readers, as this chapter has escaped thier scrutiny - sorry, gals, I'm still trying to get myself back in that groove, and that includes the occasional screw-up. :-D Otherwise, enjoy!**

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**Chapter 10: Wounded Deer**

Charles "Buck" McGregor prided himself on being a man of principle. He regularly attended church, honored his mother and father, and was unwaveringly loyal to his friends and family. His word was as binding as a legal contract – possibly moreso, because 'legal' was not a word that entered into Charles Buck McGregor's vocabulary. Whether it was theft, murder-for-hire, or the simple delivery of moonshine, his work was neat, timely, and efficient, and he took his pay as his well-earned due. So when his younger partner, Shane Willow, insisted on chasing after the wounded deer he'd shot, the older man grit his teeth, impatient with the delay.

After spending half the morning tracking the animal through the forest, they lost the trail, but picked up another trail of a different sort – a woman, barefoot and alone, wandering south along the shore of the Ridgewater River. Buck was leery, seeing the potential for trouble, but Shane argued with him about the danger if the woman saw them or found their…belongings…in the woods. Both of them were wanted for a list of felony charges as long as their arms, and there was enough evidence in those trees to put them away for quite some time. Of course, Shane had his own reasons for taking the pretty little thing as their captive, but his arguments were logical, and Buck quickly sketched out an attack plan.

Now, after a day and a night wasted struggling with this hellcat they'd picked up, Buck wasn't so sure the danger of someone discovering their operations outweighed the trouble they'd brought on themselves. However, as Shane pointed out, it was too late to turn back now. She'd seen them, she could identify them, and the first chance they got, they'd kill her and dispose of the body where no one would even think to look for her. But that would have to wait – they were a full day behind schedule, and Buck wasn't tolerating any more delays.

That was why dawn found them back on the narrow trail, pack mule in tow, with the woman bound and gagged on top of the sacks of sugar and yeast. Shane gained a black eye in the effort to hoist her up there, which he now nursed with the occasional grumble, but Buck had tied the ropes tight, and all she could do now was glare at them fiercely when they happened to glance in her direction. Buck set a fast pace, hoping to make up time – but as usual, Shane found a way to delay them yet again.

"Hey Buck, lookee there!"

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The enthusiastic words woke Bo from his sound sleep against the tree. He opened his eyes to bright sunlight streaming down through the trees, turning the forest to brilliant shades of gold and green above a floor of earthy brown and green foliage. The mass of raspberry bushes beside him was thick, tall, and wide, bursting with bright red berries but for the places where he'd stripped it clean, and curling with thorns that had scratched his hands unnoticed. Somewhere on the other side, in the direction Bo had come the night before, the voice spoke again.

"Blood on the ground. Think it's my deer?" There was a brief pause. "Looks like it's off that side of these bushes somewhere…"

There was a snort from another man a little farther away. "If it is, we're damned well not going after it ag'in. We got enough trouble, an' we already lost a day between the girl an' that stupid deer. Now let's git goin'. We got orders to fill."

The first man grunted reluctant agreement, and he moved away from the bushes. Mixed with the padded steps of the two men, Bo discerned the slow clop of hoofs, and the resigned sigh of an equine animal led along behind. He remained frozen in place, hardly daring to breathe, until they had moved off. Only after several minutes of silence did he risk slowly hauling himself to his feet, using the tree trunk for support.

He peered over the top of the bushes, but saw nothing but more forest in either direction. He hissed in pain as he gingerly put weight on his leg, but after a few moments, it was bearable. Slowly, cautiously, he retraced his steps around the fruit-laden bushes to where the voices had come from.

Bo couldn't believe his luck. Right there, under his bare feet, was a well-trodden path leading more or less southwest into the trees, and in the loose dirt on top, the exact boot prints he'd been following most of the night. He'd missed the path entirely in the darkness and exhaustion of the night before. And the two men - it was them, it had to be! But where was Daisy? The second man had mentioned trouble, and a girl – what did they do with her?

The thought made Bo's blood boil all over again, but he stopped himself just shy of charging down the path. Two to one made for poor odds when that one was half lame and unfamiliar with the territory. What he needed was more information.

After taking one more good long look at the path, Bo slipped back into the trees to the west, and charted a course parallel to the narrow track. Moving swiftly now, at a jagged trot, he ignored the pain in his leg and strove to catch up with his quarry. With any luck, the trees and bushes would hide his movements, and he could get a good look at what he was up against.

As soon as Bo sighted movement up ahead on the path, he slowed his pace and moved stealthily from shrub to tree, watching all the while. He was beyond relieved to catch sight of Daisy first, slung unceremoniously across the back of a huge gray mule. Her hands were tied before her, her feet behind her, and a bandana gagged her mouth. Otherwise she appeared uninjured – at least from this distance – and he blew a quiet sigh of relief. Beneath her, the plodding mule was burdened with a heavy-looking load of burlap sacks, the contents of which Bo couldn't begin to guess.

Ahead of her walked the two men, both tall and heavily built, carrying packs on their shoulders. As Bo drew closer, moving slower and quieter still, he could see their shirts were scruffy and worn, with poorly-sewn patches in odd places, and a fair amount of dirt obscuring the original coloring of the cloth here and there. They carried rifles in their hands, and huge buck knives on their belts. He cursed to himself, because he knew the type – men of the woods and mountains who lived by knife and gun, and who respected no laws or rights but their own. They would kill with impunity, himself or Daisy, and that made them far more difficult to deal with than ordinary criminals, who at least feared punishment from the law.

"Now what, Bo Duke?" he asked himself quietly. He couldn't think of a single thing that would give him any advantage over these two hulks – not with Daisy tied up, himself wounded, and a pocketknife his only defense.

Silently, he kept moving, keeping pace with the slow-moving group deep in the trees, trying to think. Bo was careful, stepping along with all the woodskill Uncle Jesse and Luke ever taught him, but he wasn't careful enough. An unnoticed twig snapped under his heel, and he dropped to the ground, ducking behind a tree even as the men stopped in their tracks.

"What was that?" came the deeper voice of the second man - Buck he'd been called - peering into the forest.

"Deer, probably," the first man answered, searching with eyes and ears. "Ain't nothin' else out here that big, but the bears and coyotes. Want to try for venison steaks again?"

"Dammit Shane, cain't you think with somethin' besides yer stomach?" Buck growled.

"'Course I can!" Shane retorted, with a leering grin towards Daisy. She aimed a kick at him from the back of the mule, but he easily dodged out of the way. "Oh, don't you worry, pretty, you won't have near so much fight when I'm through with you," he sneered, but his partner was in no mood. Buck grabbed him by the shirt sleeve and shoved him along the path.

"We ain't got time for that neither! Get a move on!"

Shane snarled something back at him that Bo couldn't quite hear, but the mule's clopping hoofbeats began again, and they were on the move. Again he waited until the sounds of their travel were distant and faint before he moved out from cover and started out through the trees once more. Wherever they were going, they were following the trail, and with a little luck, he'd do them one better, and have a few surprises waiting for them at the other end.

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Even injured and barefoot, Bo was able to move much faster than the two men and their laden pack mule. He slowed down when he came parallel with the group from deep in the forest, but he resumed the swift trot as soon as he was safely past them. Even when he was well ahead of them, he stayed in the trees that would hide the evidence of his passage, though he moved closer to the path lest he miss some critical turn or side-path and go off-course.

After nearly an hour of this steady loping, however, Bo's swift trot was becoming more of a weaving stagger. Not even his night's rest and a bellyful of berries could erase the fatigue and strain of injury and bloodloss, no matter how stubborn he was about it. But even as he slowed and sized up his surroundings for a good place to stop and rest, luck sided with the youngest Duke cousin a second time.

In his weariness, he almost missed the faint side-path, and it was nearly right there under his feet before he saw it. It broke off from the main trail to his left, carefully hidden between the shrubs at the trail's edge, and continued on west to Bo's right, disappearing over a hillock in the distance. He couldn't help but wonder where it led to, whether this was the ultimate destination of the two men and their mule, and so with slow steps, he traced the path to the edge of the hillock and looked down.

For a man of the Duke family, it took no effort to recognize what he was seeing, and any questions or doubts he might have had about the men's destination were erased. There in the little bowl-like clearing was a moonshine still, primed and ready for production. A neatly stacked pile of wood sat at one edge, waiting to fuel the fire, and the well-trampled dirt told Bo this still was often and recently used. There was just one thing missing. The mule was heavily laden, but Bo was willing to bet that they weren't hauling in water along with all the other ingredients. With sharp eyes, he scanned the edges of the clearing, and finally spotted another narrow path leading out again.

Treading with eager feet, he crossed the clearing and followed the second path, right down to the edge of a smooth stream some hundred feet into the trees. In an instant he was on his knees, gulping down handfuls of water. Yesterday he'd had more than his fill of it – today he couldn't get enough. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was until now.

Finally, thirst slaked, he stood and walked a little ways downstream. Finding a nice shallow spot, he sat down on a rock and carefully untied the cloth wrapped around his calf. It had bled far more than he thought, and the cloth was soaked red again, with a trail of red dripping down his ankle. The wound itself looked decidedly unhealthy, ragged and squeamishly open, with pale, discolored skin all around. Bo rinsed it as best he could, then washed and wrung out the stained blue plaid cloth, all while thinking of his predicament.

So the men were moonshiners. That explained the mule and the burlap sacks on its back. If they were afraid of getting caught by Daisy – well, that might be the case, but the river was a good distance from this path and its hidden still – or still_s_ – and it didn't seem to Bo that Daisy was much of a threat - which left other, more sinister reasons for her kidnapping. Bo tried not to think about that.

How, then, could he get his cousin away safely, and preferably himself as well? That was the real question. Bo had little doubt that he would be any good in a fight alone against those two trolls. That meant using a little Duke ingenuity, something Bo wasn't nearly as good as Luke at. _Trolls,_ he thought, looking down at the blue plaid shirt in his hands with sudden memory and a small smile. He remembered Luke reading that book to him and Daisy, every night for two weeks, while they all piled onto Luke's bed before bedtime. If only all he needed to do was keep the two of them arguing all night, until dawn came and turned them into stone.

Bo shook his head, amused at the thought, then scolded himself to find a real answer, while he replaced the bandage around his leg. He winced, securing it firmly in place, then stood, testing it again. It still hurt, but no more than he could tolerate. The rest had refreshed him, and he stooped for a few more handfuls of water, trying to satisfy his growling belly. Now, to work.

As he walked back upstream towards the path and the still site, and sorted through his options. But in the back of his mind, the thought about the trolls stayed with him, and he just couldn't help but think: _keep them arguing_. Then Bo smiled, and felt new energy coursing through him as a genuine Duke plan formed in his mind.

**Now, I don't know exactly what that boy's got in mind, but I'll bet it's gonna be good...**

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End file.
